“I’ve got her.”
The elevator doors slid open seconds later and I was moving fast. It wasn’t my job to wait for Wes to catch up. He could either move his arse or get left behind. Thankfully, he did the former, saving me from having to listen to Joel chew me out later for not following protocol.
We were across the parking lot in a flash. Wes barely had his seat belt fastened before I gunned the engine. The bar was halfway across town. It’d take twenty minutes to navigate through the busy city streets during lunch rush. I was determined to make it in ten.
“Mind telling me what’s got you all fired up?” Wes gritted out, clenching the “oh shit” bar above his head as I whipped in and out of traffic.
“Waverly.” It was all I said.
“Gotcha. Well, I’m sure she’d appreciate you arriving in one piece, so you might want to slow the fuck down.”
His attitude pissed me off until I realized two importantthings. Sixty in a thirty was reckless and I was pushing sixty-five. Easing my foot off the gas, I settled in at forty.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all good.” He huffed out a laugh. “Just wasn’t looking to die today.”
The rest of the drive was uneventful and quiet. Wes was too busy texting—probably to Joel—to try to fill the dead air with a pointless conversation. My head wouldn’t have been in it anyway. I was too worried about Waverly.
Parking in front of the bar was nonexistent at midday, however we were lucky enough to grab a spot when a sedan pulled out a block away. Wes stayed at my back for the walk, then made himself scarce when I located my girl sitting in a corner booth. There was a sea of empty glasses sitting on the table in front of her, and her head was thrown back in a laugh.
Waverly was drunk. Not good.
Shayne saw me first, giving me a subtle lift of her chin. My girl was oblivious until I slid into the booth next to her.
“Finnnnn!” Her voice was several octaves too high and her eyes were bloodshot and glazed over.
“Hey, baby.” I kissed her lightly on the lips, tasting the remnants of vodka, cranberry, and some other liquor I couldn’t place. Motioning to a passing waitress, I requested, “Can we get a few glasses of water, please? And the bill.”
“Sure thing.” She went to the bar, returning quickly with three glasses and their tab.
Handing my black Amex to the waitress, I distributed the glasses around the table. “Drink up, so we can go home, Waverly.”
She picked up her water, chugged half, then pulled it away from her mouth. “How are you here?”
“Duncan called.”
“Of course he did.” Finishing the drink, she set the glass down among the pile a little harder than necessary. “Ouch.”
“What the hell? Did you hurt yourself?” She winced when I took her hand, lightly running my finger over her swollen knuckles. They also appeared to be starting to bruise. “What happened?”
“What did Duncan tell you?” Considering the amount of alcohol she’d obviously consumed, her words were crystal clear.
“Only that you needed me.”
“I do, which is crazy, because I never used to need anyone. You’ve bewitched me, Finnian O’Lachlan. You’re all I think about and it’s not just the sex”––she glanced at Shayne briefly––“which is phenomenal, by the way. I love everything about you. I don’t even mind when you leave your boxers on the bathroom floor after you shower.”
Waverly rambling incessantly was cute as hell. Any other time I would’ve let her continue, but I needed answers.
“Focus, baby. What happened to your hand?”
“I may have punched my dickhead father in the face.” She shrugged like it was no big deal.
“You may have?”
“You should’ve let me shoot him,” Shayne grumbled.
“Jesus Christ.”
