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“Sorry,” she calls back to Mason. “He's the jealous type.”
Carter follows me out of the house and opens the passenger door of my car so I can put her inside. Once she's in the seat, I slam it closed and watch as she slumps down, pouting like a child. As I pass Carter, I put out my fist and he bumps it with his own.
Somewhere in the five-minute drive back to her dorm, Amelia falls asleep. I carefully slip my hand into her pocket and pull out her key before I lift her into my arms. Even as dead weight, she's light as a feather. Her arms instinctively wrap around my neck and her head leans against my chest.
I manage to unlock the door and carry her up the two flights of stairs to her dorm without waking her. As I get into her room, I lay her down in bed and reluctantly remove her arms from my neck. She stirs for a second before rolling over.
Removing her uncomfortable yet sexy as hell heels, I take a blanket from the end of the bed and drape it over her. Then, like I have a fucking knack for doing things I shouldn't, I bend down and kiss her forehead.
I'm almost out the door when I hear it. Mumbled little words, spoken in her sleep with no actual recollection of what she's saying, but clear as fucking day.
“Love you, Zaynie.”
ALL NIGHT, I TOSS and turn before finally giving up on sleep entirely around five in the morning. Amelia's drunken sleep confession played through my head all damn night, on a loop I couldn't seem to stop.
It's not like I can do anything about it. Regardless of how she feels about me—how I feel about her even—the circumstances are still the same. If she knew the choice she was making, she would choose differently. I'm sure of it.
All I know right now is that I'm pumped full of frustration, and I need to get it out—before I hunt down Mason Lockhart and kill him for trying to take advantage of Amelia last night.
I throw on a pair of sweats and grab my water bottle before heading to the gym. Beating the shit out of a punching bag has to be the next best thing to beating a douchebag quarterback, right?
And as my phone vibrates in the middle of my workout and Blade's name appears, I press ignore and hit the bag harder.
Whoever—Kennedy—thought I would make a good bartender, obviously didn't think about how clumsy I am. She must have completely wiped from her memory the time I almost took her out with a stack of boxes. While the club is fun, and we're having a great time together, I think I've spilled at least five drinks and broken enough glasses to negate all of tonight's tips.
"Oh, relax," she tells me. "You're doing fine."
I roll my eyes. "That's easy for you to say. When did you get so good at this?"
She shrugs. "I spent my childhood making money by bartending at my parents' parties. It's amazing how much drunk people will tip a kid."
For some reason, none of that surprises me. But that does nothing to help the fact that I'm completely uncoordinated.
I walk down to the other side of the bar, where a guy is leaning against it, looking impatient.
"What can I get you?"
He narrows his eyes and looks me up and down. "What are you, twelve?"
I force a sickeningly sweet smile on my face. "My age has nothing to do with your drink order, so again, what can I get you?"
"A martini. Dry. Extra olives."
Asshole. "Coming right up."
Grabbing one of the glasses from the shelf, I walk over to the liquor and go to make the drink. I manage to bump the glass with my elbow, and it tumbles to the floor and shatters. A groan echoes from the back of my throat, and a quick glance to the prick at the end of the bar tells me he's not amused.
"Okay." Kennedy steps next to me and pushes me out of the way with her hip. "Why don't you just handle bottled beer?"
"I'll probably manage to screw that up, too," I reply.
She thinks about it for a minute and then smiles. "Cans then?"
Ugh. This was a bad idea.
IT'S ONLY TWO HOURS into my first shift, which couldn't possibly be going any worse, when Easton and Zayn walk in. At the look my brother gives me, I suddenly feel the need to go cower in a corner somewhere and pretend I'm not here.
"Amelia Rose," Easton chastises, like he's my father. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
