Blondie chuckles. “That’s the one.”
“And how much of that wine have you had?” I press, trying and failing to hide the tense edge to my voice.
There’s a rustling noise, like Blondie is shaking her head against the mouthpiece, then a grumbled, “No wine. I’m a big fan of Gin Eyres.”
I hear a male voice then, and Blondie giggles at something he says, which instantly makes my jaw tighten. “Is someone with you?” The jealousy in my tone is so blatant I cringe. I know it’s ridiculous to think Blondie might be out drinking with the intention of getting laid, but then I remember the events that led to us hooking up back in September, and the caveman inside me rears his ugly head. The thought of Blondie with some other guy—with anyone who isn’t me—ignites a possessiveness I didn’t know I was capable of.
She’s mine. She’s been mine since that day we kissed in my car. I only wish she knew it.
She huffs out a soft laugh, like she’s amused by my reaction, but doesn’t have the energy for anything that requires more exertion than that. “That was just the bartender, silly.” I release the breath I was holding, but my relief is short-lived, replaced once again by worry when she asks, “Where are you, anyway? Why can’t I see you?”
“Because we’re talking on the phone,” I say carefully, the dread roiling inside me so palpable I can practically taste it. Then another thought occurs to me, and my whole body goes cold. “Is Ronnie there with you? Or Andie?” Silence. No response. “Dornan?” I press. Still, she says nothing. “Lexi?” I almost shout out this time, desperation hitching my voice up an octave.
“Nope,” she finally drawls with a long-suffering sigh. “Just little ol’ me and the weight of my actions.”
Shit. She’s not just drunk and alone, she’supset. With me? Because I turned up at her house uninvited? Because of what’s happening with her mom? I don’t know the answer, and the not knowing only stokes the flames of my growing trepidation.
There’s a demanding fervor behind my next words. “Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”
I’ve never moved so fast to get anywhere in my life. The moment I hung up with Blondie, I bolted out of my dorm, and raced to the Renesmobile like Batman answering the Bat-Signal. While I still abide by the laws of traffic (safety matters and all that), I definitely put my foot down on the pedal a little harder on the quieter roads, determined—no,needing—to get to Blondie as quickly as possible.
Less than ten minutes later, I’m pushing open the door to Grape Expectations, praying that I understood Blondie correctly. The breath that escapes me when I spot her in the back corner booth seems to take my entire body weight with it, leaving me practically floating as I rush over to her table.
Just as she said, she’s alone, surrounded by no fewer than a dozen empty highball glasses, her hair a wild mess and glasses askew on her face. I throw an angry glare over my shoulder in the direction of the bartender, who should have cut her off probably six or seven drinks ago—or better yet, not served her at all considering she’s not twenty-one yet, though I know from experience he wouldn’t have bothered to check her ID—but he’s too busy flirting with a busty brunette to be paying any attention to Blondie’s blood alcohol level. I’ll definitely be having words with that asshole before I leave.
Blondie’s eyes are glassy when they catch on mine as I slide into the rounded booth opposite her.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Big Dick,” she drawls.
A smile twitches at the edge of my lips. The size of my manhood was never in doubt, but it’s nice to hear she’s impressed by it.
Her brows knit together, forming the cutest little crinkle between her eyes. “What are you doing here? Or am I imagining you?” Her face pales a little, and she shakes her head, covering her eyes with her hands. “God, I hope I’m imagining you. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what?” I ask gently. “I’ve seen you drunk before.”
She peeks at me through the gaps between her fingers. “No, all sad and weird.”
I snort. “I hate to break it to you, Dornan, but you’re always weird.” My smile wavers, and I hesitate a moment before asking, “Why are you sad?”
She lowers her hands with a beleaguered sigh, and her bottom lip wobbles as she stares down at the table. “Because Mom and Aunt G know the truth. They know we’re not really dating…and all the rest.”
My stomach twists. “The rest…like the agreement?”
She nods. “Mmhmm. And the bet.”
Now, my insides are doing gymnastics, and I feel like I might throw up. Fuck. I suppose it was inevitable her family would find out about the bet sooner or later, especially with me showing up at her house earlier like I did. One Google search is all it would take to damn me. But still, I wasn’t prepared for the terror that grips me at the thought of her mom and aunt knowing about all the shit I did. Or of them disapproving of any relationship I might have with Blondie.
“Oh. Are they, like…demanding you end it?” I force myself to ask.
If they are, then where does that leave us?
Nowhere,that voice in the back of my head taunts.
It’s right. If Blondie’s mom and aunt want her to end things with me, then that will be that. Agreement terminated. And though it would kill me to lose her, I would graciously accept it. I would never make her choose.
I’m steeling myself for that very outcome—for her to end it here and now—when she surprises me by shaking her head again. “Mom thinks it’s a terrible idea, but Gina gets it. We need the money, so…” She trails off, and a shiver travels over my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I hate the self-doubt that infiltrates my thoughts, that makes me wonder if Blondie is only sticking around for the money I’m paying her and not for more. Not forme.
