“On my birthday?”
“Mon dieu.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, it’s a giant favor. Consider it payback for letting you crash at my place tonight, no questions asked. Unless you wanted me to mention it to your parents.”
I laughed. “A favor and a threat. You’re really winning this one, cousin.”
“No more jokes.” Her tone made it clear the decade between us put her in charge. “My best friend’s here, and she’s shit-faced. That’s what I’ve been dealing with. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Okay.” I pushed off the wall, my two nearly full beers already forgotten on a side table. “Should we take her home?”
“Oui. You should.”
“Me?” Maybe she’d missed the part about it being my birthday. “What about you?”
“Remember when I said I was on call tonight? Well, perfect fucking timing, I just got paged. I’ve got to go.”
Without waiting for my agreement, she grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowd, bumping into whoever got in our way. As we crossed the living room toward the woman I’d be babysitting, I was already calculating how fast I could drop her off and get back to salvage this birthday.
Until I saw her.
Motionless, she sat with her head hung low, staring absently into an empty glass—her somber profile a sharp contrast to the circus surrounding her.
Everything else dropped away.
The music. The crowd. The cold knot in my stomach. Toronto and every other thing that had been running through my brain vanished.
Chantel’s hand was still wrapped around mine, but it didn’t matter anymore. Something had caught in my chest and was dragging me forward all on its own. Pulling me straight toward the most intriguing woman I’d ever laid eyes on.
Unruly curls framed her petite face, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Mascara was smudged across her skin, painting blurred lines between the freckles scattered over her cheeks. She had a full, kissable mouth, and dark eyes that hadn’t looked up but were already captivating me.
She was wrecked. She was stunning.
She’s mine.
The thought came out of nowhere, knocking the air from my lungs.
It made zero damn sense. I didn’t know her. Not her name or her story. I didn’t know if she was single or taken or something in between.
But the thought was there anyway, planted deep, and I couldn’t dig it out.
Fuck, I didn’t even want to try.
Chantel was right. This woman shouldn’t be left alone here. A woman who looked like this—wounded, vulnerable, completely unaware of the effect she was having on me—shouldn’t be left alone anywhere. Ever.
And I was going to make damn sure she wasn’t.
“Zadie,” Chantel yelled, tapping the woman’s shoulder. “Zadie, pay attention.”
She shot up from her seat, brushing her chestnut hair from her face, and her deep brown eyes finally landed on me.
Something flickered in her gaze. Surprise, maybe. Or curiosity. Then it was gone, shuttered behind an expression so guarded it told me more than any fake smile ever could.
“Caleb, this is Zadie.” Chantel pulled us closer together. “Zadie, meet my cousin, Caleb.”
Neither of us spoke as our eyes locked. The humid air between us seemed to spark, and my pulse roared over the bass.
“He’s a good guy,” Chantel added. “You can trust him. He’s going to get you home safe tonight. Now, I’ve got to run. I’ll check in when I can.”
She turned and walked away, but after only a few steps, called back over her shoulder, “Be good. Both of you!”
