raising a hand to Nick, who’s watching the whole thing and laughing.
“Jack, put me down!”
On the way out, I wave to the bouncer.
“See ya, Jack,” he says. “Bye, Sam.”
“Frank!” Sam hollers at him. “Frank, help me!”
Apparently she realizes Frank’s not going to come to her rescue, because she says, “Ugh!” and flops down against my back.
I walk up to my truck, set her on wobbly legs, and open the passenger door. “Get in.”
She folds her arms and scowls up at me. We stand there in silence, sizing each other up. She’s getting in that truck even if I have to toss her in myself.
She huffs and turns toward the seat. She’s trying to climb in, but can’t seem to aim her foot properly. I put my hand under her arm to help steady her, but she bats it away.
“I can do it myself.”
I sigh and let go of her, but after she practically falls backward trying to lift her foot again, I catch her deftly and set her on the seat.
“See?” she says. “I told you I could do it.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a big girl,” I mutter, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side.
By the time I buckle her in and start heading for her house, some of the fight seems to have gone out of her. She’s leaning back, wedged between the seat and the door, her knees together and her feet angled out in opposite directions. We drive in silence for a while, which suits me fine because I’m catching my breath from the whole thing. What in the hell’s going on with her? I can’t believe I just had to haul Sam out of a bar like that.
Thank god Nick called me. The thought of her going home with those snakes makes my blood boil. She never would’ve been even talking to guys like that if she weren’t so smashed.
I look at her, leaning back in the seat and frowning out the window. Why is she so smashed? My heart softens as I wonder if something horrible’s happened to push her to drink like this.
“Any reason why you’re drunk off your ass on a Monday night?” Or any night?
She lifts one foot and puts her boot on the dash, stretching out her leg. My eyes linger on her, my heart starting to pump. “This is all your fault,” she says.
“How is it my fault?”
She brings up the other leg and rests it on the dash as well. My cock responds to the sight of her lounging all over the seat and I face forward, squeezing the wheel. “I’m mad at you, Jack.”
Well, that’s helpful. I already know she’s mad at me. Again. Hell if I know why.
“I’m going to throw up,” she says.
I look over sharply, wondering if I have time to pull over. She’s leaning back, legs still stretched out, staring out the windshield with a somber expression. Of course it can be hard to tell, but she doesn’t look about to throw up, so I take my chances and keep driving.
There’s a minute of silence, then, “Where’s Emily?”
I squeeze the wheel. “Home.”
“Do you love her, Jack?”
“Uh—” I say, caught off guard by her question. I’m saved having to answer though, because she goes on.
“I bet you do. What’s not to love? She’s beautiful and smart and funny and tall. How tall is she?”
“Five ten.”
“What?! Holy hell. See? You only have three inches on her. I once had sex with a guy who was six five. Remember him. What was his name?”
“Hell if I know.”
“It was odd, too, because his pecker was kinda tiny. We made it work though.”
“God, Sam.”
“Hey, how many girls have you made fall in love with you?”
I look at her sharply again. Say what? “I don’t make girls fall in love with me.” If I could, I wouldn’t fucking be in this mess.
“Let’s see, there was Trisha,” she says, counting off on her fingers, “and, uh, that blonde one. What the hell was her name?” She puts up another finger. “And Sharice.” Three fingers. “Remember that girl? She had the great big hair.” She holds her hands out from her head to indicate.
When she brings her hand back in front
“Jack, put me down!”
On the way out, I wave to the bouncer.
“See ya, Jack,” he says. “Bye, Sam.”
“Frank!” Sam hollers at him. “Frank, help me!”
Apparently she realizes Frank’s not going to come to her rescue, because she says, “Ugh!” and flops down against my back.
I walk up to my truck, set her on wobbly legs, and open the passenger door. “Get in.”
She folds her arms and scowls up at me. We stand there in silence, sizing each other up. She’s getting in that truck even if I have to toss her in myself.
She huffs and turns toward the seat. She’s trying to climb in, but can’t seem to aim her foot properly. I put my hand under her arm to help steady her, but she bats it away.
“I can do it myself.”
I sigh and let go of her, but after she practically falls backward trying to lift her foot again, I catch her deftly and set her on the seat.
“See?” she says. “I told you I could do it.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a big girl,” I mutter, shutting the door and going around to the driver’s side.
By the time I buckle her in and start heading for her house, some of the fight seems to have gone out of her. She’s leaning back, wedged between the seat and the door, her knees together and her feet angled out in opposite directions. We drive in silence for a while, which suits me fine because I’m catching my breath from the whole thing. What in the hell’s going on with her? I can’t believe I just had to haul Sam out of a bar like that.
Thank god Nick called me. The thought of her going home with those snakes makes my blood boil. She never would’ve been even talking to guys like that if she weren’t so smashed.
I look at her, leaning back in the seat and frowning out the window. Why is she so smashed? My heart softens as I wonder if something horrible’s happened to push her to drink like this.
“Any reason why you’re drunk off your ass on a Monday night?” Or any night?
She lifts one foot and puts her boot on the dash, stretching out her leg. My eyes linger on her, my heart starting to pump. “This is all your fault,” she says.
“How is it my fault?”
She brings up the other leg and rests it on the dash as well. My cock responds to the sight of her lounging all over the seat and I face forward, squeezing the wheel. “I’m mad at you, Jack.”
Well, that’s helpful. I already know she’s mad at me. Again. Hell if I know why.
“I’m going to throw up,” she says.
I look over sharply, wondering if I have time to pull over. She’s leaning back, legs still stretched out, staring out the windshield with a somber expression. Of course it can be hard to tell, but she doesn’t look about to throw up, so I take my chances and keep driving.
There’s a minute of silence, then, “Where’s Emily?”
I squeeze the wheel. “Home.”
“Do you love her, Jack?”
“Uh—” I say, caught off guard by her question. I’m saved having to answer though, because she goes on.
“I bet you do. What’s not to love? She’s beautiful and smart and funny and tall. How tall is she?”
“Five ten.”
“What?! Holy hell. See? You only have three inches on her. I once had sex with a guy who was six five. Remember him. What was his name?”
“Hell if I know.”
“It was odd, too, because his pecker was kinda tiny. We made it work though.”
“God, Sam.”
“Hey, how many girls have you made fall in love with you?”
I look at her sharply again. Say what? “I don’t make girls fall in love with me.” If I could, I wouldn’t fucking be in this mess.
“Let’s see, there was Trisha,” she says, counting off on her fingers, “and, uh, that blonde one. What the hell was her name?” She puts up another finger. “And Sharice.” Three fingers. “Remember that girl? She had the great big hair.” She holds her hands out from her head to indicate.
When she brings her hand back in front
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