“Damn,” she whispered. Was there really no one hanging around waiting to rescue a slightly bitter bridesmaid from her best friend’s hot groomsman?
“Suns game,” Milo said behind her.
Hanna spun, whipping her dark curls around as the rest of the parking lot followed on a delay. Everything wobbled. It occurred to her as the world resettled into a somewhat coherent image that she had not eaten since breakfast.
She glared. “What?”
“There’s a Suns game. You’re not getting a ride anytime soon.”
“Then I’ll walk,” she huffed, starting off in the general direction of Sara’s childhood home, only for her ankle to immediately roll.
Milo’s hands caught her elbow, steadying her body, but boiling her blood. The muscles in his forearm flexed against her and she willed herself not to think about the way the veins pulled under black rivers of ink.
You’re pathetic, she chastised herself.
“We got off on the wrong foot,” Milo murmured. They both scrunched their noses at the pun. “Bad phrasing.”
Hanna pulled her elbow from his grip, smoothing the coral ruffle of her sundress.
He waved toward his rental car. “If you’d like to drop your attitude, I’d love to take you to your best friend’s engagement party now. And maybe get some food in your system.”
Hanna stared for a few beats, wrestling with the asshole in her head who wanted to go another round or two. But the rumble in her stomach needed him more than she needed her pride.
She threw her hands up in defeat and followed him to a silver sedan, sliding gracelessly into the front seat. Her thighs stuck to the hot leather as the open back of her dress betrayed her, fusing her skin to the interior.
“Who gets leather in Arizona in May?” she asked. He didn't answer, which was probably for the best.
His forearm tensed as he reversed from the parking spot. Her eyes landed on the tattoos stretching across his skin while the beiges and oranges of suburban Phoenix blurred through the window. She noticed a clock, inked in gray and black shadows, that fell over the ten and six on its melting face.
“AM or PM?” she blurted.
“Hmm?”
“Your clock tattoo. Morning or night?”
Milo unleashed a smirk, glancing at her quickly as he wound through the Rodriguezes’ picturesque subdivision.
Is he capable of another facial expression? she thought.
“AM.”
Hanna nodded. “Cool.”
“Cool?”
“Yep,” she said. He stared ahead, likely waiting for a follow-up question, but she didn’t feel the need to know more. “I’m not going to ask for the story.” She heard how bratty it came off, but it was too late, and she was too drunk.
He shrugged. “I’m not going to tell it.”
“Good,” she said, folding her arms.
“Hanna,” Milo sighed. “You’re wasted. I can’t let you go in there like this. We’re still a little early. Please, let me get you something to eat.”
Hanna shook her head, the lights on the dashboard blending into one large tunnel of color.
“No, no, no. I just need Cami’s enchilada casserole. It heals all ailments, I swear.”
She attempted a look to convey just how serious she was about her favorite comfort dish, but Milo was clearly skeptical as he slowed the car to a stop outside of a sprawling ranch-style home with a bubbling fountain in the front.
