There was a goddamn woodpecker trying to peck his way out of my brain. I was face down on flannel sheets, and the contents of my stomach were having a raging debate over whether or not they wanted to come back up.

Wait a minute. Flannel sheets? I hadn’t gotten mine out yet. I was still hanging on to the hope of a warm snap with my cotton bedding. I opened one eye.

“Well, shit.”

This wasn’t my bed or my bedroom.

“Please be Scarlett’s,” I whispered to myself through cracked lips and a mouth as dry as all the deserts in the world.

“Nope. Guess again,” a cheery voice announced.

I opened my other eye, wondered why it hurt, and then focused in on the nightstand. There was a bottle of aspirin, a sports drink, and a plate of dry toast.

“Mornin’.” Bowie Bodine, looking fresh as a daisy, was sitting on the foot of the mattress looking at me like he hadn’t a care in the world. He was dressed for work and putting on shoes.

A few details from the night before floated up into my consciousness. I was in Bowie’s bedroom. “Oh, God.”

“Drink your orange electrolytes like a good girl,” he told me, patting my ass.

I buried my face in the pillow that I now realized smelled like him.

“Why am I here?” I groaned, not sure if I was asking the existential version of the question or the literal one.

“You insisted on coming in last night when I brought you home.”

“Where did you bring me home from?” I asked.

“Jail,” he said cheerfully.

“Oh, God. Do I still have a job?” I croaked. I remembered moonshine. A whole vat of it. Me telling Devlin all about my problems. Misty Lynn being downright ugly. It got kinda blurry after that.

“Of course you still have a job. You think I’d let anything happen to you?” he teased.

I lifted my head from the pillow and peered under the sheets. I was fully dressed, but not in my own clothes. I was wearing a Bootleg Springs High School hoodie and a pair of sweats that were a good four sizes too big. Bowie’s clothes.

I was in Bowie’s bed, wearing his clothes.

“Where did you sleep?” I demanded.

“On the couch.”

I flopped back down on the pillow and reached blindly for the aspirin.

“You don’t need to look so relieved about it,” he teased.

“I’m mad at you,” I told him.

“So we’re back to that?” He took the aspirin from me, thumbed open the bottle, and dumped the caplets in my hand. Efficiently, he opened the sports drink for me and handed it over.

“Back to that? I never stopped being mad at you!”

“Last night you asked me to kiss you again because you really, really like it when I do that.”

I was definitely going to throw up. The memory burbled to the surface. Yep. Jail cell. Misty Lynn’s hair extensions. Bowie backing me up against a wall and being sweet.

I swore.

He stroked a hand over my hair, and I didn’t care for how much I liked it.

“Why am I in your clothes?”

“Well, you came in here after Bubba released y’all and told Jonah to make you pancakes. Then you took your clothes off on the stairs and helped yourself to my closet.”

This was why I never let Drunk Cassidy out to play. She was a dumbass.

“You took advantage of me while I was drunk!”

“I did no such thing, Cassidy Ann,” he shot back, appalled at the idea.

I rolled my eyes and then felt like I was going to puke. Note to self: Don’t roll eyes while hungover.

“I mean, you let me be nice to you when I was drunk. Even though I’m clearly still furious with you!”

He crossed his arms and smiled at me like I was making a fool out of myself.

“Are you mad at me or Drunk Cassidy?” he asked.

“Both!”

He laughed.

“What happened last night and how do I still have a job?” I asked, closing my eyes. I pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over my head, tying the strings real tight to block out the morning light.

“Well, apparently, y’all got into some kind of confrontation with Misty Lynn and her sidekicks. Bartender called the station and Bubba responded. With the help of a patron with a minivan, he drove you all back. He didn’t think the sheriff would take kindly to him arresting his wife and two daughters. And as it turns out, Misty Lynn has one more drunk and disorderly left on her rap sheet before she looks at a weekend in jail. So we fixed it so no one got in any official trouble.”

“You brokered a truce?”

I vaguely remembered Devlin and Bowie making me shake Misty Lynn’s stupid hand that had probably touched sixty percent of the penises in town.

“Dev paid off the bartender to cover the damages and the tabs. No charges were pressed, and y’all went home.”

“Except I came here.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, shit! The cats. I have to feed them.” I sat upright and immediately regretted it.

“Taken care of. I fed them this morning and chased them around with that feather on a stick thing.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, flopping back down into his pillow. I should get up. Get up and storm out…and thank Jonah for the pancakes that in my foggy memory were pretty fantastic.

“I’d do anything for you, Cass.”

“Anything?”

He perked up expecting me to ask him for something he could give.

“You can just go back to pretending I don’t exist,” I told him.

“I can’t do that,” he answered, amused.

“Why don’t you give it a try? You might surprise yourself.”

He slipped his hand under the hem of the sweatshirt and stroked my back. It felt like heaven. “Honey, you’re gonna have to get it through your thick head that I’m not going anywhere. I’m not stopping until you agree to a date.”

“One date?” I loosened the hood so I could peek out at him.

“That’s all I need to make you fall for me,” he said with a wink.

“You’re an idiot,” I told him.

“I’m your idiot.”

“Is it safe to come in?” Jonah asked, covering his eyes in the doorway.

“She’s fully clothed,” Bowie reported.

“I saw a lot of boobs last night,” Jonah told me with a grin. He set down a glass with something purple and lumpy in it.

I groaned, and Bowie punched him half-heartedly in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“What’s this?” I asked, eyeing the glass.

“Hangover cure,” Jonah said. “Drink it up as fast as you can and be prepared to feel a hundred times better.”

I’d settle for one time better at this point.

“Got yourself a bit of a shiner there,” Bowie observed, looking at my ouchy eye as I sat up and started chugging. That dang Misty Lynn and her pointy-ass elbows.

It tasted like seaweed and vinegar. I wanted to stop, but Jonah tipped the bottom of the glass up.

“Now what?” Bowie asked, taking the empty glass from me.

“Now we wait,” Jonah said eyeing me.

They didn’t have long to wait. “Oh, God.” I bolted out of bed and ran for the bathroom.

I didn’t even bother slamming the door shut before I was kneeling before the porcelain throne and heaving up a whole mess of stuff.

“Works like a charm every time,” Jonah said from the doorway.

I heard water running and felt a wet rag on the back of my neck. My hair was pulled back from my face and held lightly at the base of my neck.

“Get it all out, honey,” Bowie’s voice was soft. That big hand was at my back again stroking my clammy flesh.

I did as prescribed. And after collapsing on the cool tile floor and laying there for a few minutes with Bowie mopping my forehead and playing with my hair, I did indeed feel better.

I’d yell at him later, go back to mad once I was back on my feet, I decided.

“I have to go to work,” I whispered.

“Jonah’s getting your care package ready. Ginger ale, coffee, and a breakfast sandwich.”

That all sounded pretty damn good.

I worked my way up to a seated position, pleased that my head hadn’t snapped right off my neck. With the aide of the vanity and Bowie’s helping hands, I made it to my feet.

“I’m gonna go,” I announced, walking gingerly toward the door. I made it into the hall and decided to try the door that divided our sides of the double. Bowie’s side was unlocked. Damn it. How was I ever going to sleep again knowing that the door that separated us was unlocked?

“Oh, hey, Cass?” Bowie called after me.

“Huh?” I grunted.

“Make sure you return the socks to Jonah. They’re his.”