Page 77 of Prime Time Romance

“No worries, Josh. It’s totally fine. I get it. No hard feelings.”

She heads toward the fire escape, teetering a bit as she walks. I get up to go after her, because stairs and Brynn are probably not a good combo right now, but before I can reach her, she stops, stands rigidly still, and then makes an eerily slow 180-degree turn to face me. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to speak. But before anything comes out, she whips back around and bends at the waist.

What does come out is all of the wine she ingested earlier, bringing with it what looks like the bowtie pasta she ate for dinner.

There are two more encores. And a complete reprisal of the third act when I finally get her down to the apartment.

Eventually, she passes out next to my toilet.

I rub her back, attempt a ponytail in her hair, and then carry her to my bed, tucking her in with water and a trash can.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as I rearrange the covers around her. “I am regretting all of my life choices tonight.”

Her eyes drop briefly to my lips, and I wonder if our kiss makes that list of regrets.

“Hey.” I wipe a very sweaty strand of her bangs from her forehead. “The only regret you should have tonight is maybe the purse wine.”

She moans what sounds like an “Mmm hmmm” and then tucks herself into a tiny ball. She’s a clammy shade of white. Definitely sweating. Her hair is wild, and she smells a little like barf.

And fuck, I think I really like her.

21

Brynn

I’m in another beautiful dream.

I’m lying in the grass, sunlight streaming on my face, listening to the sounds of the ocean waves in the distance. Somehow I know I’m in Carson’s Cove. Maybe because I can sense him lying beside me, our feet tangled together.

I can hear the even rush of his breath and feel the heat from his body. Everything feels easy. Exactly as it’s supposed to be. As I turn my face to him, I inhale. He smells like cedar and sunsets. Like happiness. Like home. Like a woodsy lumberja—

“Josh?”

My eyes fly open at the same time as his. I scramble away, but our legs are intertwined. My body heaves itself off the bed, but without legs to stand on, the resulting motion is more of a log roll onto the floor.

“Gosh forking darn it!”

I hit the floor hard, my forearms taking the brunt of my fall.

I press my hands to the mattress, hoisting myself back up. Josh rolls gracefully out of the bed, body shirtless and hair perfectly tousled.

“Morning.” He stretches and lazily scratches the back of his head. “How are you feeling?”

The moment the question leaves his lips, the throbbing headache hits. As do the spins and a rancid aftertaste in my abnormally dry mouth.

“What happened—” I don’t even need to finish the sentence before the memories come flooding back.

My Coyote Ugly routine onstage.

The roof.

My water going down.

My pasta dinner coming back up.

“Oh my god.” My hand goes to my mouth. “I am so sorry.”

He runs his hands through his hair, and it causes his abs to contract.