Was he still driving? Had he fallen asleep at the wheel and run into a snowbank? No, he was in a bed. Whitney’s bed. Gradually he remembered getting to her apartment complex and stumbling up the stairs with her. God, how pathetic.She’d been wearing a granny gown and he’d joked about it. But he hadn’t made love to her. He would have remembered that. In any case, she must have led him in here although he couldn’t recall the exact sequence of events.He could hear her slow, even breathing next to him. Turning his head, he saw her lying on her side facing him, but her eyes were closed and she’d pulled the covers up to her chin. He, on the other hand, was on top of the covers. Apparently she’d put a blanket over him so he wouldn’t get cold. Once he’d conked out, he must have been too heavy for her to move.He pictured himself collapsing, fully dressed, onto her bed. Lovely. And wearing his boots, too? He hoped to hell not. Wiggling his toes, he ascertained that he wasn’t wearing socks, let alone boots, but he might have been when he’d flopped down on her green comforter.Bad form, Slater.
What do You think about A Cowboy Under The Mistletoe?
