Return of the Jerk (Sweet Life in Seattle, Book 2) (18 page)

“Life’s not perfect.”

“I know that.”

“Maybe it’s time to get over it.”

Blair was stirring her margarita, using the fat straw it came with, but now she looks up at him. “Get over it? That’s your great advice?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I know that sounds simplistic, but sometimes you have to let things go.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you don’t have any weaknesses.”

“I have weaknesses.”

“Like what?

He thinks about it. “I’m too impulsive. Don’t always look before I leap.”

Blair rolls her eyes. She knows him so well that she already knows he doesn’t believe this is a weakness. He’d see this as being bold, and being bold is a strength.

“I’m also too blunt,” he continues. “Don’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings, but sometimes I do.”

“Give me a break. You’re naming all these weaknesses that you secretly think are strengths.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

He gets an annoyed expression. “What makes you think you know me so well?”

And there it is. Blair almost tells him how he was under her microscope for years, but she doesn’t. Instead, she sucks greedily on her margarita while Road sips his beer, watching her.

“Maybe you should slow down a little, have some more food.”

“No, I’m not hungry.” Happily, the margarita is starting to kick in and she feels better, like she’s floating in a hazy cloud. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she says, the tequila making her brazen. “You’d never pass the Bandito Test.”

“What’s that?”

Blair explains the whole thing to him, and thinks of the irony. She gives this test to every guy she dates, while the guy she’s been in love with her whole life wouldn’t even pass it. Road would never risk his life to save her from the banditos.

When she’s done explaining it, Road shakes his head. “I swear, chicks come up with the weirdest shit.”

“It’s not weird.”

“Yes, it is.”

Their waiter comes over and says something to him in Spanish, and Road turns to her. “We’re finished, right?” He starts speaking Spanish again, but Blair interrupts.

“I’d like another margarita, please.”

Road looks at her in surprise.

The waiter nods and looks at Road, who says something about c
erveza
, so Blair figures he’s getting another beer.

“Why are you drinking so much?” he asks once they’re alone again.

“What are you? My mother?”

“Just curious, is all.”

When their drinks finally arrive, Blair immediately goes to town with hers. She knows Road is right and she should slow down, but she’s feeling reckless for a change.

Road leans back in his chair, his golden-green eyes watching her. “You really think I wouldn’t pass that test of yours?”

“That’s right.”

“Why? You think I’m a coward?”

“No.” She takes another long pull on her straw. The margarita is bright, sour-sweet, and very strong. “I don’t think you’re a coward.”

“Then what?”

She knows Road isn’t a coward, and if it was any other woman, someone he cared about, was in love with, she knows he’d pass that test with flying colors. He wouldn’t hesitate to put his life on the line for her.

It’s me he’d never rescue.

Road is waiting for her to answer, but she ignores him. He takes a swallow from his beer, still considering her.

If only I could fall out of love with him.

That would solve all her problems. She thinks about how she’ll be thirty-one on her next birthday, but it’s like part of her life is standing still. And now that Road is here for good, there’s no escape.

I’m like a junkie.

Blair flashes back to that one night they had together and how Road was a terrible lover. She even wonders if that’s why his girlfriend cheated on him. At the time, she thought it was mind-boggling that any woman would cheat on Road, but now she sort of gets it. Of course, not all of his ex-girlfriends cheated—some of them lost their minds when he broke up with them. She remembers one Skank Factor X who smashed every window on Isadora with a tire iron. Most of his girlfriends were so self-involved they probably didn’t even notice he was a bad lover. Occasionally, one of them would break up with
him
, though, and she imagines they were fed up, because how long could you put up with someone who was never willing to satisfy you?

Not long.

If only she had the same access to him as all his bitchy girlfriends.

It might actually cure me of this addiction.

And that’s when it comes to her. The craziest idea ever. Her breath catches at the audacity of it. Even in her tequila-induced haze, she knows it’s beyond nuts.

What if I could have sex with Road again?
She knows he’d refuse if she asked him, that even if she threw herself at him, he’d refuse.
So how could I entice him?

Isadora.

But I love Isadora! I could never give her up. Never!

But then she imagines herself free of Road, free of the tormenting dreams, free of this obsessive love, which—let’s face it—isn’t exactly healthy.

She tries to imagine the freedom. And it’s wonderful, so wonderful it might actually be worth the price.

How long would it take, though? It would have to be more than one night, she decides, because one night didn’t work last time. How long then? A week? Would a week of underwhelming, unsatisfying sex with Road be enough to cure her once and for all? It would be like an inoculation. She already knows he’s a selfish asshole in bed. She tries to imagine it, how badly she wants him, and then discovering that every time they were together he was a jerk.

And then she smiles, because the crazy thing is, it just might work.

“WHAT?”
ROAD’S MOUTH
is open, his expression incredulous.

“You heard me.” Blair leans in closer, hoping her voice didn’t carry. The restaurant has grown more crowded since they first sat down.

He glances at her drink. “Damn, babe, you must be hammered.”

“I’m . . . not. I know what I’m doing.” She gives him her best haughty expression. In truth, she
is
getting kind of drunk, and can’t help wondering if she’s going to be happy or horrified by this conversation tomorrow. On the other hand, if she hadn’t been drinking, she’d never have thought of this great idea, much less had the nerve to ask him.

A grin tugs at Road’s mouth. “What a crazy day this is turning out to be. Let me get this straight. You want to have sex with me in exchange for Isadora?”

“That’s right.”

Road chuckles. “Look, Blair, I think you’re a pretty woman and all, but I’m not giving you my car in exchange for sex.”

She stares at him in confusion.
His
car
? What’s he talking about?
Blair realizes he’s misunderstood what she’s saying.
He thinks I’m offering myself to him so he’ll give me Isadora, but Isadora is already mine!
She knows she needs to set him straight, make it clear it’s
his
body that’s up for auction, but all she can seem to focus on is the fact that he said she was pretty. “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

He nods. “Course.”

“I don’t believe you. And I don’t believe you have a thing for redheads, either. You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

She leans back and tries to pull it together but can’t because her head is spinning. “Where’s my drink?”

“It’s gone. You finished it.”

“I did? Well, I want another one.”

“Babe, you’ve had enough.”

Blair licks her lips in frustration. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth, and then she notices the sun is getting low in the sky. They’ve been out together all day.

“Come on, I should probably take you home before you come up with any more crazy ideas.”

“I don’t wanna go home!” Blair knows she sounds drunk. “God.” She burps. “Those garder . . . marder . . . mardergarders really snuck up on me.”

Road’s hand is on her arm as he leads her to the front of the restaurant. She can hear him chuckling. “Didn’t think it was possible margaritas that big could sneak up on anyone.”

Somehow Nathan manages to extricate his wallet from Blair long enough to pay the bill. She immediately demands its return.

“Don’t trust you,” she tells him, fumbling and shoving it back into her purse. “Even though you’re like Larry.”

“Who’s Larry?”

“You
know.
”

“No, I don’t know.”

“
Larry!
”

“Sorry, princess, don’t know anybody named Larry.”
Christ, I’ve never seen Blair this shit-faced.
He manages to get her out of the restaurant. She’s still ranting about some dude named Larry but he tunes her out, trying to get her back to the car in one piece.

Once they’re finally driving to her condo, she’s singing to the radio—loudly, and mostly off-key, but at least it’s keeping her occupied.

When they’re almost there, Blair starts to wind down and by the time he gets her upstairs, she’s more docile. He figures she’s probably getting sleepy, though she starts talking about Larry again.

“Maybe you are Larry,” she says, pointing at him. “But I am
not
Isabel!”

And that’s when it hits him. “You’re talking about
The Razor’s Edge
?”

“Of course!”

Nathan chuckles to himself.
Now it makes sense.
He uses his key to open her condo and when they’re inside, he immediately goes to the kitchen to get her some water. He’s tempted to make coffee, though he’s dealt with enough drunks to know coffee doesn’t sober anybody up.

She’s leaning against the counter, rambling on about Larry and Isabel again. “I’m not Isabel . . . because I would go with you.”

“Go with me where?” he asks, getting down a glass.

“Anywhere. I’d go anywhere . . . but you didn’t ask. Never asked!”

Nathan fills the glass with cold water from the fridge then hands it to her, telling her to drink. “We should get you to bed. Let you sleep it off.”

And that’s when Blair gets that same half-crazed expression she had on her face earlier at the restaurant. “Yes! Take me to bed!”

“No, babe, you need sleep.”

She starts mumbling, “The cure . . . the cure . . . need the cure!”

“Drink some water,” he encourages her. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Blair takes a swallow from the glass then another. “Want to end this addiction . . . end it . . .”

He’s been around people who drank too much his whole life, so he knows the shit that comes out of their mouths.

“What kind of addiction?” he asks, placating her, figuring she’s talking about her perfectionism, all her lists.

“You!”

“Me?” Nathan is taken aback. “What do you mean?”

But Blair just shakes her head, drinks more water, then puts the glass down. “And do you know what’s the real . . . pisser? You’d fail the Bandito Test!”

He rolls his eyes. “Not that stupid test again.”

“It’s not stupid! You’re only saying that ‘cause you’d fail.” She hiccups. “Can’t believe you’re the worst I ever had.”

Nathan watches her, still trying to figure out why she’s going on about that test so much, and how could he be an addiction? Blair’s eyes are bloodshot, and that amazing hair is a mess of cinnamon curls. She usually tames it, but he has to admit he likes it this way. Sexy. He’s surprised to see her so hammered and knows it’s not normal for her. Even after five years, he can tell she’s still a good girl. She’s always been the same as him about alcohol and seldom drinks to excess, though he’s sure her reasons are different than his. Not sure what got into her tonight, though.