Page 10 of Final Temptation (Alpine Peak #2)

Tomorrow was move-in day, and I slept like absolute horse shit the last few nights since I saw Sophie.

It could very well be the fact that she looked hot as hell in that miniature yellow scrap of fabric she called a dress, or because I’d been tossing and turning each night, waking up from the same goddamn nightmare.

I’m so over it.

Like any other Thursday after work, I made my way to a meeting.

I was a few minutes late, so I slid in quietly and listened to everyone speak, getting the things they needed off their chest. When the chair leader—the person who ran the meetings—stood up, he asked if anyone else wanted to speak.

My hand shot in the air—in order to heal, I needed to make the effort.

Leaning forward, my elbows rested on my knees, and my head hung low as I took a deep breath. “Hello, everyone. My name is Myles, I’m an alcoholic.” The phrase rolled off my tongue like a habit.

“Hi, Myles,” the others repeated back.

“I’ve been having a recurring dream. Sometimes, I go days without having it, but this week it’s been nightly, like clockwork.” I interlocked my fingers, my thumbs fidgeting against each other as I stared at the hardwood floor, remembering every burning detail.

“Except, it’s not a dream. It’s a nightmare.

It’s like living in one of those scary movies where you die, but you come back to life and live the same day over and over again.

This nightmare is always the same. It starts the same and ends just as it always does.

” I take another deep breath before vocalizing the details.

“I’m walking into a party. All my old friends are there.

High-fives and handshakes are being thrown at me one by one as I make my way to the kitchen, where bottles of booze are lined up.

Coolers full of beer are stocked, and everyone around me is choosing their vice for the night.

I always choose tequila. I fill a solo cup halfway and sip from it all night, like anyone else would with a beer.

I go back two or three times throughout the night between games of beer pong and flip cup.

I continue to fill my cup every time it’s empty, and by now, I’ve had most of the bottle by myself.

I’m wasted. As an outsider looking into my nightmare, I can see how truly fucked up I am.

I’m swaying back and forth, slurring in every conversation I have, and taking hits at every joint passed my way.

I don’t say no when someone asks me to take a shot with them.

The alcohol is a mask; it tells me I’m having a wonderful time, that I’m invincible.

I’m so invincible, I’ll say yes to anything.

” My knee bounced up and down as I recalled the details of that night.

The night that has haunted me ever since October 8th.

At this point, I could recite the dream from memory.

Every damn word.

“Hey, man!” Logan said, patting me on the back, like we were old pals who went way back. We were both fucked up beyond belief, shooting the shit and sharing a joint. “Would you mind driving me home later?” he asked.

“With what car? I Ubered here,” I slurred.

“I drove here earlier, man. I’m way too fucked up to get home on my own now.”

“And you don’t think I’m fucked up?” My response, drunkenly sarcastic.

“You look tipsy, if that. You’ve always been able to hold your liquor. Plus, I just live down the road. Take me home and I’ll let you crash at my place. I can take you back home in the morning.” I was getting tired, and it sounded like an ideal plan—my head hitting a pillow.

I was invincible, after all.

The next thing I knew, we were sitting in the car, with me behind the wheel. But I couldn’t find the will to put the car in drive. “I can’t do this, man. I can’t drive you home. My-my mind isn’t right.”

“Okay, okay…here, switch with me. It’s just down the road. I’ll drive slowly. Plus, I haven’t had a drink in an hour or so. We’ll be good, man,” Logan said in his most confident, inebriated voice.

In that moment, I made a choice I couldn’t take back.

I switched seats with him, and we made our way back to his house from the party.

We lived in the mountains for crying out loud—It was full of dark and windy roads.

The tequila, a downer, like all other types of alcohol, started to sink in more as the night went on.

I dozed off before we could reach our destination.

I’m jolted awake, not in real life, but in my dream.

The hands that gripped my shoulders, shaking me awake, were of the man who sat beside me at the wheel.

But it wasn’t his hands shaking me awake; instead, it was the aggressive shake of the car hitting something that felt like an earthquake.

We were both coming to our senses, him quicker than me.

He was now outside the car, but there was smoke coming from the hood.

I couldn’t see.

I got out to take a better look at what we hit.

My eyes adjusted to the scene in front of me when I realized it wasn’t a what, but a who.

I was running toward the car in slow motion—there was blood everywhere.

I needed to get to this person and help.

I was almost there. My hand was reaching out, but I was still too far.

I couldn’t see his face.

“And then I’m awake. Ever since the accident, my nightmares have been the same.

At first, I wouldn’t be asleep long enough to see past the party.

As time has gone on, I’ve gotten more pieces to the puzzle.

But I’m fighting the feeling of knowing what’s a dream, and what’s reality.

” My gaze finally drifted up to the eyes looking intently back at me.

Not one person looked at me with judgment—each one of them with their own way of being able to relate.

“Thank you for sharing, Myles,” the chair leader said.

It was meetings like this that gave me an uneasy feeling.

I was supposed to feel better after getting everything off my chest by listing out all my struggles to a room full of strangers who shared the same feelings.

But a knot in my stomach twisted, the dread of going home sinking in, just to go to sleep and have a repeat of the same dreadful nightmare.

Looking around my room—the one and only I’d ever had—I ran through my mental checklist, making sure I packed up everything I was going to need before moving out. My parents' house wasn’t far away, so I could always come back and grab something if I forgot it.

All I had with me were a couple of duffel bags and a suitcase.

As long as I had my clothes and toiletries, there wasn’t much else I’d need to move in with Sophie.

She texted me the other day, letting me know what to expect: we would share a bathroom, and her guest room was fully furnished. It was simple.

I locked up and did one last look at my childhood home. Hopefully, this was a new start for me, and every time after, I’d only be here as a guest. I refused to gain independence just to come back home a few months later because I couldn’t handle living like an adult.

Mom and Dad were still traveling, but I talked to them a couple days ago. I wanted to fill them in on my plan to move out so they wouldn’t be shocked when they came home and my things were gone.

On my drive to Sophie’s apartment, I felt like something was missing. I didn’t want to show up for the first time empty-handed. After all, she was opening her doors and giving me this opportunity, and I needed to thank her for it. Hopefully, she would appreciate the small gesture.

The only thing that came to mind was grabbing her another coffee from Mugs .

I pulled up to the coffee shop; luckily, it wasn’t too busy, and I could get right up to the ordering counter.

There was absolutely no part of me that wanted to rattle off this obnoxious drink order.

Instead, I copied and pasted it into my notes app and asked the barista, “Do you mind just reading my order from here?” I slid my phone across the counter.

The barista answered, “No problem!”

While she began entering the order into her register, the fresh wildflowers for sale beside the counter caught my attention.

Pink, purple, orange, and yellow flowers stuck out wildly in all different directions.

The bundle was placed inside a mason jar, already topped with water.

They appeared freshly picked, and their bright, wild colors reminded me of my new roomie.

Happy, spunky, upbeat.

“I’ll take one of those flower arrangements, too,” I let the barista know.

“Sure. Pick out whichever one you want on your way out.” She smiled sweetly.

“Thank you.” I nodded.

I couldn’t say I’d ever bought a girl flowers before. This was a first for me. But this was just a nice roommate gesture. A way to break the ice.

My hands overflowed as I approached the front door.

Luckily, the newly developed apartments Sophie lived in were spacious, looking more like tiny townhomes than apartments.

There wasn’t an upstairs or downstairs; instead, each unit shared a wall with its neighboring building.

Each apartment had its own small patio in front, with a fence on each side built for privacy.

The buildings were all white, with black accents.

Before I knocked on the door, I took in the space around me.

Soph must be into gardening. There were various gardening tools lying around, a bag of fresh soil, some pots, and even some bright spring flowers that had already been planted.

Glancing back at the wildflowers in my hand, a smile formed on my lips.

Seems I made a fitting choice when picking out these flowers.

My knuckles rapped against the front door. Waiting for her to answer, I glanced down at my feet by the welcome mat.

“I can’t believe you came,” it read in the top left corner, and on the bottom right it said, “that’s what she said.”

Man, is this girl a character.

My small smile grew wider, and I was unable to control the chuckle that slipped from my mouth. The door squeaked open, Sophie looking at me from the other side.

“Do you always laugh at yourself?” she asked, stepping back, motioning for me to come in.

“That mat is something else. You know, usually, they just say Welcome.” I shook my head.

“I couldn’t pass it up at the dollar store.

It was literally one dollar . You know how sometimes you go to the dollar store and then an item will say it’s $4.

99? And then you’re like… ‘That’s false advertising!

This is the dollar store for crying out loud!

’ Well, it seemed like a steal, an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. ” She was dead serious.

“You’re something else, Princess.” We stood there awkwardly in the entryway, me with all my luggage and hands full, her with a smile on her face, looking up at me.

She couldn’t be more than five feet tall with her blonde hair only reaching my chin.

“I got this for you.” I reached out, handing the mason jar full of flowers and iced coffee to her.

“Oh my gosh! These are gorgeous!” She immediately sniffed the flowers, a look of delight sprinkled in her eyes.

“My way of saying thank you. I really appreciate you letting me invade your space.”

“Oh, please, you’re the one helping me out, Myles. Thank you .” The happiness slipped from her face, quickly replaced with a dip in her brow. “And you…” she paused, “remembered my coffee order?”

“Well, not word for word. I copied and pasted it into a notes page in my phone.” She took a deep breath, grabbing my hand, pulling me toward the living room.

“Please, sit. If we are going to do this roommate thing, we need to start with being honest.” What the fuck was she talking about?

I followed her, sitting down on the plush white couch, and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted,” she admitted, sitting down next to me.

“I’m so confused, you said this is your drink order. I assumed you ordered this all the time.”

“Okay, maybe I was being harsh, it’s not the worst , but it’s not amazing. I’d prefer an Americano any day of the week.”

I blinked rapidly.

“So, let me get this straight… You prefer an Americano, but you told me your go-to drink order is this concoction with about twenty ingredients because…” I waited for her to finish my sentence.

“Because I was hoping to buy myself a few minutes when I was getting ready to leave that day to meet you. And maybe I wanted to be a little hard on you, because I’m a ball buster like that.

” Her elbow was propped on the back of the couch, her head resting in her hand.

She tilted her head to the side, her chocolate brown eyes dancing in my direction.

“You’re not wrong about that.” Little did she know, she’d been busting my balls for months now.

Sophie was a little flirt, and for a moment, I was so focused on getting my bags inside and setting everything down that I failed to notice the tiny jean shorts she wore and the black tank top that left little to the imagination.

Why did I have the feeling that living with Sophie was going to be pure, horny torture and sexual tension for days?