“You gonna tell me how to get to your place?”
“Call me that name again.”
“Chase?”
“No, the one you called me earlier, at the Magic Castle.”
“Puppy?”
He smirks and turns on his GPS before taking a strand of my hair and twirling it in his fingers. “I like it when you call me that, sunshine.”
CHAPTER8
VROOM VROOM
CHARLI XCX
I haven’t hadthis much fun in a long time.
Correction; I haven’tletmyself have this much fun in a long time. I’ve allowed myself to become so buried in my career and keeping up the illusion of happiness, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to let go and justbehappy. Since Cassie, I prefer to spend time with my dogs rather than most people. My friends are the few exceptions.
We alternate between dancing and making out, which brings out a surreal feeling I’ve been longing to experience again for years. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or Renate causing this sloppy sensation in my brain and butterflies lodging in my chest, but I don’t want to let go of these feelings, not yet.
Now she wants to go home with me? And I just handed her my keys? I’m convinced I’ve died.
She slips behind the wheel like she owns it, and the way she controls the car like a natural has my head spinning. No fear. That’s nothing if not hot. Once again, I find myself curious to know what she’s like in bed. If I’m lucky, I might find out soon. I have a million questions running through my head about the dominatrix bomb she dropped earlier, and I’m getting a hard on every time she calls me her puppy. Fuck, what the hell got into me? As she drives, I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to clear my mind, but there’s so much running through it.
I’ve had women over since Cassie, and even dated a few, but always to drown out the pain for a few hours or days. It always left me feeling worse, and them feeling used. Ren is the first one not interested in my money or my fame, and more importantly, she doesn’t want to play therapist—I already have one of those. Ren also isn’t someone I hope sneaks out in the middle of the night. I want to wake up next to her tomorrow. Hell, for a lifetime worth of tomorrows. I want to dance with her, laugh with her, and just be with her. I want her to be mine, but more importantly, I need to be hers.
But this is all way too fast, and I know she’s hesitant.
“You okay, big guy? Or do I need to pull over? Wouldn’t want you getting sick in such a pretty car.” She glances over at me for a second, then back to the road. I hadn’t realized I’d gone still, too busy letting her run around in my mind. She stopped drinking hours ago, because she’s a responsible adult. I’ve been drinking and acting like a fucking frat boy. Like a loser. I’m sure she’s being nice and making sure I make it home in one piece. She’ll get me to pass out on the couch and leave, never to be heard from again. She’ll become the one that got away, the one I let slip out of my fingers because I’m too scared to tell her how she makes me feel.
The alcohol grabs me by the collar and throws me headfirst into a spiral so fast I can’t stop it. I’m too drunk to recognize the signs, too stupid to remember what to do. There’s a panic attack knocking on my fucking window while she drives through Hollywood.
“I’m sorry. It’s uhm.” I scrunch my nose together for a second to bite back the coming panic attack. “I haven’t been out with someone like you in…shit…a while.”
“Like, on a date? Tell me that’s not true.” She asks as she maneuvers the tight corners. I take her in, the full hips, the thick thighs, the small peak of a perfect soft belly between her top and her skirt. And her tits. I’m still staring at her tits. I’m spiraling into a breakdown and I’m staring at a goddess.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I haven’t dated in a while. I mean, I have, but none of them went well.” I watch Los Angeles pass by the window. Even the familiar landscape looks foreign in the darkness. Just like in my mind, the world closes in.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She reaches over and takes my hand, stroking it with her thumb. The gesture is soft but reassuring and I close my eyes, remembering how to breathe through this as her touch calms me.
“Yeah, I think I’m just…”In total disbelief that you’re sitting next to me, you’re holding my hand, you’re real.“You know, drunk.”
She continues to hold my hand as I emerge from the spiral. We pass a billboard for the Pasadena Parrots and smack my forehead and whip out my phone. Scrolling through the messages, I can’t find Devin’s name. Am I that drunk? My memory flashes to him playing with my phone last night, and I scroll back up. Bingo, the blonde knockout named Buffy. Dick.
Hey, bringing Ren home.
ETA, ten minutes.
Buffy
Roger that. I’m a ghost in the wind!
Leaf. A leaf on the wind.
