Page 57
“Some bar downtown. Honky Tonk?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
The line goes quiet for a moment, just the faint thump of music bleeding through from her end.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, already grabbing my keys.
“Okay.”
She hangs up.
I stand there in the sudden silence, staring at my phone like it might ring again and tell me I imagined the whole thing. My pulse is hammering. She said she misses me. Drunk or not, the words are still echoing in my head, and I know I’m already halfway out the door before I’ve even thought it through.
***
When I pull into the parking lot, I spot them immediately.
Jamie’s sitting on the curb with her arms folded tight across her chest, looking equal parts exhausted and relieved. Blaire stands in front of her, swaying like a reed in the wind as she points an accusing finger.
“I am perfectly…” She has to stop to catch her balance, one boot sliding on the cracked asphalt. “…balanced.”
Jamie notices my truck first. “Oh, thank God.”
Blaire spins around so fast she nearly topples. The second she sees me, a huge, radiant smile spreads across her face. “Simon! You came.”
“Told you I was.”
She starts toward me with the unshakeable confidence of someone who absolutely should not be walking. Halfway across the lot she stumbles, and I catch her without thinking, one arm sliding around her waist to steady her. She’s warm under my touch, her skin bare beneath some tiny little top that clings to her like a second skin, paired with those familiar worn jeans. My fingers press against the small of her back and something in my chest tightens.
She pats my chest proudly. “Good catch.”
Jamie’s already on her feet, brushing off her jeans. “Please tell me you’re taking her.”
“I am.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for an hour. “Thank Christ.”
I keep a steadying hand on Blaire as she sways again. “I’ve never seen her this drunk.”
“I only had…” Blaire starts counting on her fingers, brow furrowed in deep concentration. “…five shots?”
Jamie’s eyes close in pained defeat. “Eight. Not counting the mixed drinks.”
I grunt. “That explains a lot.”
I guide Blaire over to my truck. She climbs in surprisingly well—mostly because I lift her by the waist and set her on the seat. The second she’s inside, she leans toward me with surprising focus.
“You smell nice. You always smell nice.”
I smile despite myself. “Seatbelt.”
She salutes, crisp and ridiculous. “Aye aye.”
I reach across her to buckle the belt, hyper-aware of how close it puts my face to her chest, the faint scent of her perfume and Vodka. When I pull back and shut the door, she immediately presses her face against the window, fogging the glass.
“I can still see you.”
I raise a brow and can’t help but laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blaire this drunk. She reminds me a lot of how she was back in high school—bright and unfiltered and completely ridiculous. It also confirms what I’ve always suspected: Theo definitely got his sense of humor from her.
