“I get it” is all I say.
She nods, spinning around and heading toward the back door. I follow, locking up behind us and wordlessly climbing into the driver’s side of my Bronco. Elena hoists herself in, slamming the door.
I used to think the way she did that was adorable. How such ferocity could fit inside the tiniest of people. The way she’d glare at the height of my truck like it personally wronged her, and the huff she’d make—that she still makes, apparently—when she throws herself inside.
She wobbles slightly, letting out a whoosh as she slumps against the seat. Her head droops, and she rubs her eyes before reaching for the seatbelt.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, thinking back to her bloodshot eyes.
She only shrugs.
I turn the ignition, engine roaring to life before I back out of my parking spot behind the boardwalk and take a right on Main.
Elena groans, rubbing her temple beside me. “Don’t turn so aggressively. I’m nauseous as fuck.”
“Elena, did you drink?” I ask, taking my eyes off the road to look at her briefly.
“A little.”
“It doesn’t seem like a little. Is it possible he put something in your drink? If so we need to go to the hosp?—”
“No, no,” she groans, swatting her hand in my direction. “I only had two cocktails at the restaurant, and I didn’t leave the table at any point. There is no way he could’ve spiked them.”
Unless she’s been sober the past four years, she’s definitely had more than two drinks. The Elena I knew could toss them back with the best of them and didn’t often get sick until her fourth shot, at least.
“Did you have anything to drink other than the two cocktails at dinner?”
She winces when I hit a pothole. “I had a little something to calm my nerves before I left the house.” She huffs a laugh. “Meeting strangers on the internet is no joke, clearly.”
Christ.
“You were drinking at home before your date…by yourself?” I attempt to keep the judgment out of my tone, but her muttered “go fuck yourself” says I failed.
The remainder of the ride is silent. Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes before I’m pulling next to the curb out front of Everett and Dahlia’s townhouse. We sit uncomfortably for amoment. Elena simply stares at her hands and makes no move to get out.
“Do you have your keys?”
“Nope.” She drums her fingers against her thigh. “Just realized that I forgot them, and I’m waiting until I find the courage to call my brother.”
I sigh. “C’mon. I have a spare. I’ll let you in.”
We climb out of the Bronco, walking quietly up to the door, and as I slip my key into the lock, I realize that Elena’s about to walk away from me, and I have no clue when I’ll see her again. I have a rare moment of honest vulnerability here, and for once in my goddamn life, I might have the upper hand.
Maybe it makes me an asshole, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why did you seek me out tonight, Elena? Why’d you come find me? You could’ve called your brothers, or your parents, or the police. Why me?”
I glance behind me. She’s chewing on her lip, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I wanted a tattoo,” she lies.
“You know I wouldn’t have given you one.”
I don’t ink drunk people, but more than that, I won’t ever touch her skin again.
“Hmm. Funny.” She brushes past me, planting her hand on the door, lifting her head to give me big brown eyes, fluttering lashes, and that innocent smile that used to—nope, still does—make me rock fucking hard. “You used to love painting my skin.”
I close my eyes, breathing through my nose and willing my body to calm the fuck down.
Elena presses on the door, not realizing I haven’t unlocked it yet. Her head snaps up, and it’s fury in those eyes now. I turn to her, blocking the entrance.
“You don’t get to fucking do that. You don’t get to show up, cause chaos, and then walk away with a smirk on your face anda comment like that.” I cross my arms, leaning against the door with my shoulder. “You never sought me out before tonight.”
