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“Look.” She plants her elbows on the table and stares at me. “You aren’t actually starting to believe that you’re this girl he’s obsessed with, are you?”
“No.” I chew on my thumbnail and glance away because I know she can read me like a human lie detector. “It’s just… it’s all very confusing.”
“Don’t fall for it.” Her voice tightens. “He’s obviously mental. Whatever coincidences there are, it’s just something he’s implanted in your mind.”
“But what if it isn’t?” I meet her gaze. “What if I’m wrong about everything—”
“Has he even told you where this girl was from?” she asks.
“Not exactly, no,” I concede. “But the articles I saw said she was from Texas.”
Eden throws her hands up dramatically. “See, it’s impossible. You’re from New Orleans.”
“I don’t know that for certain,” I say. “Neither of us does.”
She looks irritated with me, and I know it’s because she thinks I’m being stupid.
“Now is not the time to let your insecurities come out to play,” she says. “You need to pull yourself together.”
“What insecurities?” I narrow my eyes at her.
“Your hurt feelings that nobody ever came for you in the hospital.” She waves her hand around as if the thought disgusts her. “We both know you wanted someone to rescue you. You wanted to believe someone out there missed you. But sometimes, we have to grow up and face the facts. Nobody came for you because there wasn’t anybody to come. And you know what? Who gives a fuck? You have me, and that’s all you need.”
This is typical Eden. Her observations usually sting and always boil down to the fact that I don’t need anyone else, only her. It’s never bothered me before, but for some reason, it bothers me now.
“That has nothing to do with this,” I tell her.
“No?” She purses her lips. “So why are you questioning what you already know? That man over there is fucking deranged. You understand that, right?”
When I don’t respond, it only adds fuel to her fire.
“Good God, this is worse than I thought,” she hisses. “He’s brainwashing you. We need to figure out a way to get the hell out of here.”
The server returns with our drinks, and I thank her even though I don’t really want them. But the moment she leaves, Eden is at my throat again.
“Drink.” She slides my shot across the table. “Maybe the alcohol can knock some sense into you.”
I glance across the bar, finding Madden at home on an old leather couch. He’s talking to Eden’s keeper, but his eyes slowly drift to me as if he can sense me. For a second, everything else fades away. His brows come together, and his eyes darken in challenge when he sees the shot glass in my fingers. I don’t know why I toss it back. Maybe it’s just stupidity, or perhaps I want to provoke him.
“That’s more like it,” Eden says as I cough and reach for my beer as a chaser. “Now loosen up. I haven’t seen you in forever, and you’re acting all stiff. I don’t like it.”
I don’t bother telling her that I can’t relax. My nerves are maxed out, and my anxiety only seems to amplify as Eden begins to bitch about her time at the clubhouse.
“I fucking hate it here. I swear I’ve gained like twenty pounds. All they feed me is bar food and beer.”
“At least we have some food.” I try to look at the bright side.
“Are you delusional?” She glares at me. “We’re being held like criminals. This isn’t the time to be a Pollyanna.”
“I’m not.” I glare right back. “But it seems like you’re doing just fine here. They don’t have you locked up. And nobody has hurt you, right?”
She dismisses my question with a shrug as she chugs her beer, and I wonder if she’ll mention any of the things Birdie said, but she doesn’t. Instead, she complains about Tank and how she wants to get back on the road as soon as possible.
The rest of her words fade into the background, along with the loud music and laughter around us. Eden orders another round of drinks and downs mine when I don’t bother to touch them. I haven’t been away from her for that long, but somehow, I’ve forgotten how difficult she can be. At heart, Eden is hedonistic, even at the expense of herself. She doesn’t really care about anything else but what she wants at the moment. We don’t have anything in common, but she’s been my only constant for so long that I still feel like we have to stick together. I owe her that much. But right now, it’s hard to remember that.
As the night wears on, my gaze drifts to Madden far more than I’d care to admit. I don’t know why I feel bound to him. Like I can’t shift the way his energy looms, a constant presence in my subconsciousness. And maybe it’s the alcohol in my blood, but I’m warm. My heartbeat is steady and calm when I check to find that he’s still there. He’s wrapped around me, even from a distance. His touch heats my skin. His scent still lingers from where he brushed against me. And the memory of his rigid cock between my thighs is alive and well.
