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My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Are we not here to meet your friend?” I clarify.
“Yes,” Nick shrugs. “But, like I said. He might be late.”
Where I come from, being late means ten or maybe twenty minutes. Not a length of time that would give anyone a chance to eat an entire meal. Nick’s merrily guzzling the second beer like it’s water, and my gut churns even more. That beer is gone in less than a minute, and he lifts the second bottle. Now, I’m getting concerned. This guy is meant to be driving me home.
“You need to stop,” I say, eyeing the beer in his hand. “You’re driving. Remember?”
Nick only chuckles at me. “You’re very prissy, Emma. You’re not in England now. We do things differently here in the States.” He lifts the third bottle to his lips and takes a long slug. The third beer disappears as quickly as the first two.
Prissy or not, drunk driving is the same anywhere in the world. If he’s not going to stop, then I need to find another way back to Sharon Springs. As he lifts the fourth bottle to his lips, I’ve seen enough. I push myself off the bar stool, which alerts Nick immediately.
“Where are you going?” he cries.
“I’m going home,” I reply. “I’m going outside to find a cab. I can’t get in the car with you after you drank all of that,” I say, gesturing to the empty bottles sitting on the bar. I turn and start to thread my way through the tables, heading to the door.
“Hey,” he calls after me. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
His voice is getting louder, and I know he’s hurrying after me. My gut is now screaming at me. Go! Go! I nearly break into a run to get outside.
Bursting through the door, I find myself on the sidewalk and squint into the daylight. A second later, Nick is right there beside me.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I turn to face him, because really, I don’t have any choice.
Once more, he looks apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. It’s been a long time since I was on a date, and I didn’t—”
My eyes fly wide. “A date?” I blurt. “This wasn’t a date. You were supposed to be giving me a lift home.”
Nick shrugs, and a boyish grin spreads across his face.
Oh, my God!
It’s only now that I realize this has all been a trick to get me out for a drink with him. “There is no friend, is there?” I demand.
He shrugs again. “No. But,” he continues hurriedly, “you wouldn’t have gotten into the car if I’d told you the truth.”
“And I won’t be getting into your car again. You’ve had too much to drink,” I retort, now feeling both angry and utterly foolish for being so absurdly gullible.
His grin falters then, and Nick’s expression quickly changes from coy and shy to annoyed and frustrated. “You can’t just leave me here,” he barks. “Who do you think you are?”
I’m stunned by his words, and for a second, I can’t reply. It’s like someone has taken over Nick Fenton. Like he’s possessed by a person I do not know and do not like.
“You’re coming back in here and having a drink with me,” he demands.
His aggressive tone is now frightening me. I’m all alone in a town I do not know. Some people have stopped and are now watching our interaction, but none of them make any moves to come to my aid.
“I brought you here for a drink. Show a little appreciation and get back in the bar, Emma,” he growls.
I can hardly believe the way he is speaking to me, and I’m fearing what he might do. I take a step back. He steps forward, and in a swift movement, goes to grab my arm.
“Hey!” a familiar voice suddenly bellows from behind me.
