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I lift my nearly empty whiskey sour. “Like me. I shouldn’t have had more than one of these, but this is my second and I may get a third because it’s been a stressful week and I feel like blowing off some steam. There’s probably a better way to do that, though, that doesn’t involve risking a hangover. But am I choosing the better way? No, I’m not. And I’m a grown-up. It doesn’t seem fair to punish kids for doing the same thing without talking things over first and trying to help them make better decisions.”
He watches me for a long moment, the tension between us growing so thick I find myself babbling again.
“I mean, learning about her internal motivations now might help her not have three whiskey sours at the honky-tonk when she grows up.” I suck the last of my drink through the tiny black straw, willing the inner voice to settle down and realize this surprise appearance is just about my phone. It doesn’t mean Drew missed me as much as I missed him, even after only a few hours. “So why were you trying to get in touch with me? Did I leave something at your house besides my cell phone?”
“I was worried about you and Wren coming here alone,” he says, glancing behind me, where Fred and Perry have returned and are once again wiggling to the music with the rest of their friends. “But it looks like you found a good group. Fred was in my class in school. He’s a great guy.”
“I thought so,” I say, grinning at Fred over my shoulder, before I turn back to Drew. “I happen to be a pretty good judge of character, you know.”
“And wise,” he says. “As usual, I think you’re right about Sarah Beth. We should try your way first.”
I beam up at him. “Oh good! I’m so glad you think so. The more we can raise kids who know why they do the things they do—good and bad—the better society we’ll have in the future, right?”
“You’re right. About all of that. There’s just one thing you got wrong,” he says, taking my glass and setting it down on a tall table at the edge of dance floor.
I follow him, my pulse spiking as I cock my head. “And what’s that?”
“You’re not having a third whiskey sour.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t you rather ‘blow off steam’ without risking the hangover?”
Before I can answer—or figure out exactly what he means—his arm is around my waist and his lips are on mine. And just like the last time we kissed, my entire body lights up and my chest fills with a giddy, electric feeling. But it’s more complicated this time. This time, I know this is way more than sexual. This time there’s relief and gratitude and…fear mixed in there, as well.
Relief that I don’t have to go the rest of my life without kissing Drew again.
Gratitude that I’m pretty sure I get to take him home with me tonight.
And fear that this is only a lapse in judgment for him, a one and done “mistake” he’ll regret tomorrow before he walks out the door for good.
Maybe after firing me?
I pull back, but before I can ask him if this means he’s changed his mind about having a work relationship and a personal relationship, Wren appears at my side, her face flushed and her eyes glittering with rage.
“I’m sorry, Tatum, but I have to go home,” she says, glancing briefly at Drew before adding, “Drew, can you give me a ride or—”
“I’ll drive you home in your SUV and they can take my truck,” the man who looks like Drew’s twin says, pushing keys into Drew’s hand. “Just leave the truck in your driveway. I’ll come get it in the morning.”
“You’re not driving me home, Barrett,” Wren says, glaring up at him like she’d enjoy murdering him.
Slowly. With her tiny bare hands.
I’m not sure what he did to piss her off, but it seems like we’re both in a sticky situation with our employers tonight…
“I am driving you home,” Barrett says. “You’re drunk and behaving irrationally.”
“I am not drunk!” Wren shouts, her eyes flashing so brightly I’m pretty sure they’re starting to glow in the dark. “And you don’t get to decide what’s rational for me. Not on my night off. Or at any other time for that matter.”
Barrett murmurs something that sounds like “ridiculous,” and Wren explodes.
“I’m not ridiculous!” She pokes him in his muscled chest. “You’re ridiculous and I’m about to prove it. Goodbye Tatum, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Without another word, she storms toward the front door of the club.
“Nice to meet you, Tatum,” Barrett says, even though we haven’t actually been introduced, before starting after her, a familiar determination in his stride.
