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“We’ve already got a ride on the way here. Let us drop you off,” he offers. Knowing our ride will be here soon is a huge relief to me too.
“Okay, yeah,” she easily agrees. “Thank you, Barrett. You’re a lifesaver.”
Ah, that’s my brother, always the hero.
And me, I’m such a fuckup that I got horny from a guy touching me.
While I probably will never get over the embarrassment of the encounter with the Devil Hound, I also can’t stop thinking about how badly I wanted him to keep touching me.
* * *
A few minutes later, a burgundy minivan pulls into the parking lot. Bear waves his arms above his head to get their attention, so that must mean it’s our ride.
“Shotgun,” I call out as the driver turns down our row.
As soon as the van stops, I open the front passenger door and hop in while the rear door slides open automatically, and interior lights illuminate the interior.
“After you,” I hear my brother tell Lyla.
She climbs in with him right behind her.
The driver, a guy in his thirties or forties, glances at each of us before he says, “Looks like you all had a wild night,” while closing the sliding door, which turns out the lights.
We all ignore him. Then I hear Barrett whisper, “Do you want to go to the emergency room to get checked out?”
I start to ask him if getting a spontaneous erection around a guy requires a trip to the ER when Lyla answers first. “No. I’m fine, just embarrassed. What a shitty day.”
Ah, good. He was talking to her, not me, of course, since he doesn’t even know I had a guy feeling me up and robbing me earlier.
A few moments later, the van slows down at the curb in front of a one-level house that’s pitch-black. I start to tell the driver we don’t live here when the rear doors slide open.
Oh, right. This must be where Lyla lives. I must have zoned out and missed Barrett telling him the address.
“Thanks for everything,” Lyla says before she climbs out on the left side of the van.
“I’m going to stay with her,” Barrett suddenly announces.
“Huh?” I ask when I open my passenger door. We’re staying here tonight?
“What?” Lyla asks, spinning around on the sidewalk to face us.
“She’s hurt and had a bad night. What if she has a concussion? She did hit her head,” my brother explains to me.
“So, we’re going to stay here with her?”
“You don’t have to stay. I can handle it.”
Thank fuck.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yeah, go home. It’s late.”
“Okay,” I agree. Not needing to be told twice, I shut my door and then give the driver the address for Greer’s bar.
I’m too hyped up to sleep. In fact, I think more alcohol is necessary to try and forget this entire night.
CHAPTERFOUR
