“Such an asshole.” She mutters.
“I’ve been called worse.”
She shifts in her seat, giving me a glance over her shoulder before turning back to the window. Silence settles. I lean forward to check if she’s still awake. Her head slumped to the side, her breath steady, and she passed out. I watch the rise and fall of her chest, steady. Alive. Relieved, I reach for a cigarette in my back pocket. I know it’s shitty to smoke in someone else’s car. But after everything tonight—and that asshole comment—I figure I’ve earned it.
After a couple of hits of the cigarette, I toss it out the windowand conclude she can sleep it off at my place. There’s no need to take her back to the lake house like this. If the other girls find out that she’s there because she’s Abigail’s friend and not actually trying to get sober, I’m sure it will stir up all sorts of trouble, and I don’t want that for Abigail or Colt. They have enough on their plate with a baby on the way. Not giving myself a chance to change my mind, I drive past the exit to the lake house.
Sweat drippeddown my back as I jogged up the hill to my house. It was just fifteen minutes past 7 a.m. I figured Mel would be hungry, so I thought I would make her breakfast.
Everyone likes eggs and bacon?
I step up on the front porch and open the door, and as soon as I step inside, I’m met with a baseball bat, but being in the Army for almost 15 years makes you quick on your feet, so I duck.
“What the hell are you doing? Put that down.”
“Not until you tell me why or how I got here?”
I leave my hands up in the air and gawk at her. Does she not remember last night at all?
Tilting my head to the side, I say, “I drove you here, remember?” My words come out calm and steady. I can see her arms beginning to relax as she studies me.
“You were drunk leaving Roxies, and I forced you into the car because you refused.”
“Hell ya, I refused.” She says in a high-pitched tone.
Is she still on that subject? What was her deal? I get not wanting to be in a car with a stranger, but she knows I’m friends with Colt and Abigail. I wasn’t a complete stranger, so it made no sense why she was so adamant about not driving in the car with me.
“How about I make you some breakfast? Get some food in your stomach. I know you’re hungover, and food will help.”
I walk up to her as if she were a wild bear about to attack me. Slow, but my gaze never wavers. I reach for the bat and take it fromher; she releases it, sighing. She was still in her black dress from last night, her makeup smeared, and she looked like a cheap prostitute, but even so, she was still fucking gorgeous.
“If you want to shower, you are more than welcome to. You can borrow some of my clothes if you like.”
“There’s a shower in this thing?”
I forgot this girl grew up wealthy and has probably never stepped foot in a place like this, so I remind myself not to take offense to it.
“Yes, and a bathtub. Let me know if you want to freshen up, " I say as I put the bat down by the couch.
“Where did I sleep last night?” I turn around, thinking that’s a weird question to start with. But before answering, I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and two ibuprofen and walked back to her.
“You slept in my bed,” I say as I motion for her to open her hand. She does.
“And where did you sleep?” She says as she pops the two pills in her mouth.
“Outside in the back of my truck.”
She nearly chokes on her water. “You slept outside?”
“Yeah, I know this place is small, and I didn’t want you to freak out when you woke up, so I figured I would just sleep outside and let you have your rest. Besides, I don’t mind being outdoors. I’ve slept in worse conditions.”
Her mouth hangs open as I walk back over to the kitchen.
“I hope you like your eggs sunny side up, princess,” I tell her as I walk back into the kitchen to start breakfast.
Surprisingly, we ate in silence—but not the awkward kind. It was the rare kind that felt… easy. Natural. Like neither of us needed to fill the air with noise just to feel okay. Still, I could feel her eyes on me. Curious. Cautious. Studying me like she was trying to decide if I was the story’s villain or hero.
I was used to that look.
