Page 78 of Wardrobe Malfunction

“Sure.” He smirks. “You want one?” He lifts the whiskey bottle.

“Nah. I’m good with water.” I take another drink.

Then, I stare out the window, watching the houses pass by.

How long does it take to get to Gabe’s place from Julian’s? Five minutes normally.

Why does it feel like we’ve been driving for ten fucking minutes then?

Why aren’t we there already?

Then, we finally turn onto his street, and I nearly exhale with relief.

Aiden stops the limo outside Gabe’s apartment building.

I open the door. “Hit the pavement, pretty boy.”

“Hey, I haven’t finished my drink.”

“Take it with you.”

He smirks. “Anyone would think you were eager to get off.”

“I am. I’ve got an early shoot.”

He laughs. “Is that what we’re calling it nowadays?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” He chuckles. “Great night, West. Thanks for the ride.” He slings an arm around me, giving me a guy hug. “Love you, man,” he slurs, patting my back before letting go.

Gabe always gets affectionate when he’s drunk. It’s usually funny. Right now, I just want him out of my fucking car, so I can get back to Charly and screw her brains out.

“Sleep it off, man.” I laugh, shoving him in the direction of the open car door.

He stumbles out, glass still in hand. He rights himself on the pavement. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, which isn’t much!” He laughs at his own joke, stumbling slightly.

I shake my head at him, laughing. Honestly, at this moment in time, I don’t give a shit if he does know I’m going back to Charly. I just want to go.

“Get to bed, and sleep it off,” I say to him. “Make sure he gets inside all right,” I tell his doorman, who is standing outside, holding the door open for Gabe.

“Will do, Mr. West. Come on, Mr. Evans, let’s get you to your apartment.”

I shut the limo door to the sound of Gabe singing Lukas Graham’s “7 Years” loudly. His neighbors must fucking love him.

“Back to Charly’s hotel,” I tell Aiden. “And drive fast.”

“Will do.” He chuckles.

He pulls off, the tires squealing as he slams on the gas.

It takes for-fucking-ever to get there.

I swear to God, we hit every red light. It’s like someone is out to torture me.

I’m climbing the limo walls by the time we finally pull up at her hotel.

“Pick me up at eight a.m.,” I tell Aiden.