“Drive me home,” I blurt, not a question, but an order.
I don’t recognize my own voice. I hold my breath, unsure who I am. I just barked an order. That’s not me, but I don’t know what to think, feel, or do.
Except I want him to drive me home. Now.
Chapter 6
Morgan
Before leaving the room, I tuck in my shirt and flatten the fabric perfectly. My shoulders set back and spine straightens. I check my hair and wipe away mascara in my compact mirror. Then I apply a fresh coat of candy red lipstick. I wear the color on youth night. It’s bright and fun. Like me.
Muscle memory takes over. Smile ready. Chin lifted.
I’m ready.
I snap the compact shut and look at Jack.
“Let’s go.”
He’s shaking his head for some reason but leads the way. I follow down the long hall that turns twice. My heels echo in the opulent lobby as we pass the front desk. Marble gleams under recessed lighting. Everything smells faintly of lemon polish.
“Goodnight, Norman,” I say to the security guard in a chipper tone.
He waves and I return a toothy smile. The one I practice.
“Night, Miss Montgomery,” he replies warmly.
Good. He doesn’t know what happened.
Jack opens the door for me. As I walk through, I catch him glaring at me with a look that feels judgmental. I’m unsure why. I am nailing this. Daddy would be proud of how well I’m performing damage control.
In the parking lot, crickets sing their loud song. My skin is sticky from the thick humidity.
Jack opens the passenger door of his beat-up car. The hinges squeal in the night air. The sound cuts sharp through the quiet lot.
I strain not to cringe as I gaze down at the old seat. It’s beige fabric, stained with years of spills and worn thin. I even smell the scent of its age, a mix of dust, deteriorating upholstery, and old carpet.
I freeze and glance at Jack. This isn’t my world.
“What, church girl? Never been in a car Jesus would prefer?”
He’s right. Jesus would probably drive this over my BMW.
“It’s perfect.” I drop into the seat like I hadn’t hesitated.
Jack walks around the vehicle. Thankfully, Gabe’s car is gone. I exhale a soft breath, my fear easing.
When Jack sits in the driver’s seat, he opens the console and retrieves a lighter and what looks like...
“Is that drugs?” I gasp as he holds a makeshift cigarette to his lips.
“It’s a blunt.” The lighter’s flame highlights his face in the dark space. Orange light carves him into angles and shadow. His features are chiseled. A strong, muscled jaw, defined cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a few strands of hair lightly resting by his eyes. His brow has a bead of sweat from the sweltering night, but it only makes him look more masculine.
His cheeks hollow as he inhales.
“So you’re a substance abuser?” I whisper and roll down the window, hoping the skunky smell doesn’t get in my hair.
“Jesus smoked pot,” he says, wearing a smirk, then starts the car.
