Again.
Otherwise, he’s just going to drive me home and disappear into his bedroom without explaining anything.
Swallowing, I clear my throat as Thorne pulls out of the space. “Thorne?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t look at me. There are weird vibes in the car right now.
Here goes nothing. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”
It’s a good thing we’re not out of the lot yet, because Thorne stomps on the brake, causing us both to lurch forward. He snaps his head toward me, his eyes pinning me in place.
“What did you say?”
Not a good sign. My cheeks flame. “Uh…”
He grips the wheel and glares at me. “Because it sounded like you were asking me out.”
“Nope.” I shake my head quickly. “You misheard.”
“Good.” He grunts and starts driving again. “Any more tension in the house and it’ll explode.”
“Right. Yup.” I slide a few inches down in my seat. The deep embarrassment I’m feeling will probably do me a favor when it kills me.
Awkward silence fills the space between us all the way home. As soon as I get out of the car and Thorne walks me through the security gate at the end of the pier, he takes off, going at what could be considered a normal pace if you’re 6’3.
Which I’m very much not. I get to the house and there’s no sign of my recalcitrant roommate.
Great. Everything is great.
Five hours later, I’m at the bar of The Secret History with Indie. We are two rounds of espresso martinis into the evening.
“And he just made you ride home in silence?” She slurps her martini and sighs. “That’s fucked up.”
“I know!” I mournfully push the pretzels I’ve dumped out on the counter into a smiley face. “I’ve been hunting for apartments, but you know how expensive it is to rent in this city. Ugh, it makes staying with Thorne seem almost tenable.”
“You know what? Fuck him. Let’s get another round. You can stay with me tonight.”
Side-eyeing my best friend, I arch an eyebrow. “Aren’t you allergic to guests and roommates?”
“I’ll make an exception for you.” She winks. Indie only winks when she’s tipsy. She stands up on her barstool, waving to Olivier. “Another round!”
If Olivier thinks that three espresso martinis are too much, he’s a good enough man to keep it to himself.
“So.” When I’m a couple of sips into my third martini, I turn on my barstool. They do say that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new. “Do we think I should go home with someone else?”
Indie snarfs her drink, sputtering. “Are you for real? I’ve been telling you that for ages.”
“You were encouraging me to proposition Thorne the last time we were here.” I roll my eyes.
Indie links arms with me, surveying the room. It’s pretty busy for a Thursday, and I’m spoiled for choice. A group of preppy guys are at the bar beside us. Some generically athletic dudes wearing a ton of Nike are clustered around a table, and keep looking this way. And the booth in the corner is jammed full of good-looking guys in all black.
Are they in the mob, or just fashionable? There’s no way of knowing.
One of the preppy guys breaks off from his group, tosses his too-long hair, and makes eye contact with me. He seems kind of bland, in his khaki shorts and blue polo, but I bite my lip and smile at him anyway.
He takes that as an invitation to walk over. “Hey. Come here often?”
“All the time.” I take a sip of my drink. “I’m Mollie, this is…” It’s only then that I realize Indie has turned around and is pointedly ignoring me. I gesture to her back. “This is my friend, but I assume that she’s doing her own thing, trying to get me to talk to you.”
