Page 90 of Filthy Player
We said our goodbyes to Joey, slid off our stools and when we reached Jaxon, he looked ready to bolt.
“Ready?”
“Yeah, but Hannah’s going to drive me to Beaux’s. Do you mind following?”
“Your wish, my command.”
“Oh,” Hannah said, laughing. “That sounds like fun.”
He leveled her with a look, and Hannah looked away, hiding her laugh.
This was the girl I loved. Boy crazy and goofy.
“I’m parked out back, meet us there? It’s the white Nissan,” she said.
“Got it.” He left the restaurant and I linked arms with Hannah, pulling her toward the rear entrance we used.
As we stepped outside, I immediately jumped back into the hallway. ”Holy crap! It’s pouring.”
“Yeah, I didn’t even realize it.”
Rain was coming down in thick sheets and I cringed. Thunderstorms, crazy ones, and even the occasional hurricane, were totally normal in Raleigh, but I still never got used to them.
“Um.”
“It’s okay.” Hannah reached for my hand. “I’ll keep you safe.”
She tugged me into the rain and we ran to her car only a few spots away, under a shining light and a quick scan proved the entire lot as now well-lit with replaced bulbs.
I thought of Beaux and smiled.
We were drenched by the time we got into the car, and Jaxon’s lights were a pale blur behind us as Hannah pulled out of the parking lot, fishtailing through a puddle as she merged into traffic.
***
We were halfway to Beaux’s house, the rain still not letting up and only getting worse, when I realized that as we’d been driving, Hannah had already been prepared to follow my instructions before I ever gave them.
As soon as she yanked us into traffic, not bothering to wait for Jaxon even though she knew he was following us, I sensed something that told me I’d made a major mistake.
I didn’t realize what it was, but something wasn’t adding up.
Hannah’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, but her fingers were constantly tapping like she was nervous. She was too jittery for enjoying a night out with a friend.
“Hey, Hannah,” I asked, looking out the window. “Do you know where Beaux lives?”
Tap. Tap. Tappity. Tap. Her fingers were constantly jittering.
She laughed, but it was tight and strained. “Everyone who’s a fan knows where he lives, silly.”
“Okay.”
That wasn’t right, though.
Beaux had told me he’d never had fans outside his house. Never once been photographed out of it either. He said his house wasn’t even in his name, something common with famous athletes and celebrities. I hadn’t asked specifics, but he’d always assured me were safe at his place when we were there.
An alarm dinged in my mind, but I pushed it down.
This was Hannah. She was nutty.
