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Take it Inside
Since he’sthe driver tonight, Jake stops at two Jack and Cokes, but I lose count of my drinks after five. He makes sure Tight Shorts brings me a glass of water between drinks, though, and that I get more food in me. Thanks to him, I’m that perfect amount of drunk—I’m aware of what’s going on and who I’m with, but everything is funny, and every song the cover band plays is my favorite one.
The couple at the table next to us get a little too chatty, too drawn in to mine and Jake’s energy, and they end up joining us at the table without our asking and digging into my second order of tater tots.
When we don’t immediately shoo them off, the husband gets chummy. Swears he knows Jake somehow. Says that he looks so familiar and we know then it’s time to leave before he connects the dots and starts whipping his phone out to take pictures of the Jake Mitchell lookalike.
Which is fine by me. Because the bar got crowded fast, way faster than the one we were at over a year ago and I’m starting to get claustrophobic.
As I clumsily slide off the stool and say my half-hearted goodbyes to the intruders, Jake grabs my purse with one hand and slides cash over the table to the waitress with the other. It looks like he’s way over-tipping, but it’s probably so he can make sure he gave her enough. He doesn’t want to wait on the actual tab. Or because he’s generous like that.
The chilled night air feels sublime as it washes over me and I groan with satisfaction, stopping to soak it in. Teeter a little. Jake has a firm hold on my arm so I won’t fall. Footsteps approach, and he tugs on my arm, apologizing to someone, but I just giggle and follow along. I must have been in someone’s way.
“Come on, you,” he says, protectively folding me under his arm and ushering me toward the car.
“Such a gentlemen,” I murmur. At least, I think that’s how it comes out. My tongue is thick and numb.
Once I’m folded into his low-seated car. Which, believe me, isn’t easy when you’re this drunk, I tilt my head back against leather and close my eyes.
I really shouldn’t have had so many drinks, but he kept ordering, and I kept drinking. So, here I am…
“Babe?” he asks, his hand on my leg.
I snap to. “Yeah?”
A chuckle. “I thought you were out.”
Oh, God. “Was I snoring?”
“No, but close.”
“I’m drunk,” I say simply, and manage a smile.
“And beautiful,” he reminds me.
There he goes with the beautiful again. “You’re beautiful too,” I say. And he is. Always. Forever. Like some kind of handsome immortal vampire that races cars. And smells good. He always smells good. “And I want to fuck you again.”
He barks a laugh. “You do?”
“Yep.” I clumsily move to sit on my knees and pull on the back of his neck so his lips collide with mine. I know I taste like gin and fried potatoes, but I don’t care.
Ew. The mustache.
I pull back. Tear it off. And he grunts at the momentary sting.
I go back in again.
“Scarlett,” he says against my lips.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe we should take this back to the house.”
Screw that house.
I straighten as best I can in the car and work the red panties down, but they get stuck on the boots.
He gets the hint—I’m not waiting for a bed. “Here,” he says, and tries to help me get my boots off, but it’s not so easy for him either at that angle.
