Page 1 of Crash Course
1
"Wake up, dumbass."
Cruz Blackwell opened his eyes and took in the pristine leather loafers that could only belong to his clotheshorse brother Phin.
What the hell?
A full freaking marching band erupted inside his skull, the pounding so fierce he closed his eyes, focused on not puking all over said loafers.
"Cruz."
Phin’s voice. Definitely. To maximize his wake-this-fucker-up efforts, little brother added a not-so-subtle toe to his ribcage. But Cruz? All he cared about was the hardwood floor pressing against his cheek.
Apparently, he’d decided his suite's kitchen would be a good slumber spot. Man, his head hurt.
If he could stay here, or maybe crawl to his bed, in a few hours he’d be okay.
That’s all he needed. More sleep.
"Get up," Phin said. "Zeke is on the warpath. You’re missing a meeting. And Christ on a cracker, did you seriously pass out on your kitchen floor?"
Meeting.
They had a meeting? He opened his eyes again, focused on the hem of Phin’s dress slacks for a few seconds until the haze cleared. But that marching band? Brutal, those fuckers.
"As the song says," Cruz grumbled. "Jack Daniels kicked my ass."
Phin let out a sigh. "Yeah. I see the bottle there next to you. The fucking floor, dude? Are you in college again?"
Gathering every ounce of strength, Cruz lifted his head. Big mistake. The room whirled. His stomach along with it. If he’d had any food in his belly, he might have blown chunks on baby brother’s fancy shoes.
What kind of an asshole misses a meeting when he’s employed by his family?
Jesus, he needed to get his act together. Lately, everything was changing. Even his drinking habits. Considering he’d gotten wasted on a Wednesday night.
What kind of an asshole doesthat?
Rolling to his back, he stared up at the ceiling, concentrating on stabilizing his rioting system.
Phin’s head appeared over him. "Grab a shower. We’re all waiting on you."
Ha! Good one. He could barely lift his head and now he was supposed to attend a meeting? This was the problem that came of cohabitating with family and having their workplace just steps away. Sure, each lived in separate suites with full kitchens, but they were all under the same giant roof.
All. The. Time.
Today proved if he didn’t come out of his suite, someone would bang on the door and check on him. A friendly gesture, but could a guy not sleep in?
Cruz cleared whatever kind of muck clogged his throat, blinked a few times, and said a silent thanks when a spot on the white ceiling came into focus. Lord, his body despised him right now. "When did this meeting get scheduled?"
"Zeke texted last night. We have a recovery. Last-minute deal in Nashville. And it’s happening today."
Today?
I don’t think so.
Maybe, if he hydrated all morning—what the hell time was it?—and power napped, he might be functional. At least he had a plan.
He inched himself to his side and levered up, pausing with each infinitesimal movement to steady himself. To his left sat the empty Jack Daniels bottle.Some friend you are.
