Getting Hotter

That phone call was like an injection of potassium to his bloodstream—he didn’t feel drunk anymore. His head cleared, stomach settled, vision stabilized. He was desperate to hear Miranda’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her. He’d broken up with her, for chrissake. And suddenly all his prior reasoning, all the things he’d said to her, sounded like nothing but a bunch of crappy excuses.

When his phone buzzed, he assumed it was his mother calling him back and answered without checking the display.

“Hey, I told you, we can talk tomo—”

“Sef?” a small voice asked.

He stiffened. “Sophie? Is that you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s going on? Where’s your mom?”

“She fell and now there’s lots of bruises.”

“What?”

Panic slammed into him. He dove off the bed and hurried to the door, ignoring the wave of wooziness that hit him. Shit, so much for not being drunk anymore. He swayed on his feet, struggling to listen to what Sophie was saying.

“And there’s blue bruises and green ones and—”

“Put your mom on the phone!” he ordered.

“I can’t. She’s sleeping.”

Sleeping…or unconscious? Oh Jesus. An icy rush of fear moved through his veins, making him feel even more light-headed.

Should he call 911? Sophie’s tone was too damn cheerful—he couldn’t imagine her sounding like that if Miranda was passed out at the bottom of the stairs, every limb in her body broken.

But he couldn’t ignore it either.

“I’m on my way,” he told Miranda’s daughter. “I want you to—”

She hung up.

“Damn it!” he roared.

In the hallway, he collided with Dylan, who took one look at his face and said, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” The floor beneath his feet dipped and he suddenly felt helpless. “Sophie called. Miranda may or may not have fallen. She might be hurt or she might be sleeping or who the f**k knows. I need to get over there right now.”

He bounded into the kitchen to look for his keys, finally finding them near the cordless phone cradle.

“There is no way in hell I’m letting you get behind the wheel of a car,” Dylan spoke up from the doorway.

Frustration seized his throat. “Don’t even think about stopping me.”

His roommate sauntered over and snatched the keys from his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But I’m driving.”

Miranda opened the door to find Seth and Dylan standing in front of her. And while Dylan looked handsome as hell in a black polo shirt and khaki cargo pants, Seth looked a little worse for wear. His black hair was sticking up in all directions and his wifebeater was wrinkled. Add to that his unshaven face and wild gray eyes, and he made one bewildering picture.

And yet her heart still skipped a beat at the sight of him.

“Hey, guys,” she said warily. “What’s going—”

She didn’t have time to finish because Seth pulled her into his arms and hugged her so tightly she couldn’t draw a breath. Gasping for air, she batted at his powerful shoulders and tried to wiggle away.

He instantly released her, the relief radiating from his body utterly palpable. “Thank God. I thought…”

She sucked some oxygen into her lungs before frowning at him. “You thought what?”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Dylan announced. “I’m taking the Jeep, bro.”

Seth glanced at his friend. “But—”

“You can call a cab to take you home. Though I don’t imagine you’ll be coming home tonight. The groveling might take all night.”

Her frown deepened when she noticed the twinkle in Dylan’s green eyes. What the hell was he talking about?

Now that green-eyed gaze focused on her. “I’m glad to see you’re not bruised and/or unconscious. Sorry to ring the doorbell and run, but I’ve got somewhere to be, and trust me, it’s been a long time coming.”

Miranda had never been more confused in her entire life. She watched Dylan hurry off with a spring to his step, then stared at Seth, who seemed to be…swaying?

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“A little,” he said sheepishly.

“And you decided to come over here because…?” Maybe her tone was sharper than necessary, but this man had dumped her, for Pete’s sake! And now he was at her doorstep, drunk?

“Because Sophie called and said you fell.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried inside and yelled for her daughter, who didn’t come running.

Pissed off beyond belief, she marched into the living room, where she found both her kids sitting on the couch, wearing identical sheepish expressions on their faces.

She addressed her daughter first. “You used my cell phone to call Seth?”

Sophie at least had the courtesy to look guilty. “Yes.”

She turned to Jason. “And you were in on this?”

That got her another guilty yes.

“Ah, don’t be mad at them.”

She spun around to see Seth leaning against the doorframe. After a second, he stumbled into the room and collapsed on the armchair as if he could no longer support his own weight.

Lord, how much had he had to drink?

“They were just trying to get us back together.” Seth glanced at the twins. “Weren’t you?”