I damn near swerved. What the hell? Was I hearing what I thought I was hearing? Or was it just wishful thinking? He was, after all, drunk.
Just like he’d been in Detroit. When he’d kissed me.
Kissing me once was a drunken lapse in judgment. Blurting out that he thought he’d blown it with me—that he’d thought there was anything to blow—was a pattern.
Was…
Was Avery Caldwell into me the way I was into him?
I chewed my lip, driving silently for a mile or so. Then I decided, what the hell, and I said, “You haven’t blown it.”
“Hmm?”
I glanced at him, and I found him watching me, brow furrowed as if he were struggling to understand me. Facing the road again, I quietly repeated, “You haven’t blown it. With me.”
“I…” The leather seat creaked as he shifted. “I haven’t?”
“No. You’re…” I tapped my thumbs rapidly on the wheel. “I like you, Avery. A lot. And yes, I’m attracted to you. I… have been for a long time. And I still am.”
The response to that was silence.
Long silence.
Conspicuouslylong silence.
I hazarded a glance at him.
And then my heart dropped—he was asleep.
Probably passed the hell out.
I laughed to myself and shook my head as I kept driving. Eh, maybe it was just as well. This probably wasn’t the best time or place to be pouring my heart out to him. Now was definitely not the time for us to be doing anything about this apparently mutual attraction.
I’d just… wanted him to know. I couldn’t completely explain why. Because he’d been so heartbreakingly vulnerable in that moment? Because he was just so deep in depression and despair that I wanted to give him hope ofsomething?
I didn’t know.
But it didn’t matter anyway.
Because he was passed the hell out beside me.
CHAPTER 21
AVERY
The pounding headache and churning stomach weren’t unusual. Lately, they’d been constant companions more mornings than not, if notquitethis viciously.
The shame, though—that was new.
As I sat back against the cold bathroom wall, hoping I was done getting sick, I couldn’t even put my finger on why I was so excruciatingly ashamed, only that I was. Or why my skin crawled beneath the club clothes I was still wearing.
I groaned into the silence and kneaded my temples. I must’ve done something awful while I was drunk. Hopefully no one had videoed it. That club had a no-camera policy, so there was that.
The club. Right. I was dressed like this because I’d been out drinking myself numb while I looked for someone to drill me into oblivion.
I knew immediately I hadn’t been laid. I may or may not have remembered anything that happened, but my body made it pretty clear that there hadn’t been any sex last night. No telltale aches or twinges. And… somehow I just knew. My memory of last night was piecemeal, with lots of drinking, dancing, and some kissing, but that was as far as it had gone. That wasn’t a blank spot in my memory—it hadn’t happened.
So whathadhappened?
