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Sadly, she’s not totally off the mark. I might not have trash-talked girls like Larkin, but I didn’t go out of my way to befriend those deemed less cool. “I was a bit of a jerk in high school, but I like to think I’ve grown out of that bullshit, which we can discuss once you’re in my truck. You’re drunk and need someone to see you home.”
“I’m not drunk,” she says on a hiccup.
I raise my eyebrow.
“Fine, I’mtipsy. Still don’t know why I should trust you.”
“For one, I have a girlfriend. I’m not interested in hooking up.”
“Having a girlfriend doesn’t stop guys from being assholes.”
Valid point. “Would it help if I told you my mother would have my hide if I didn’t offer to help a woman who looked sad and drunk, whileactualassholes eyed her like they had the God-given right to do as they pleased?”
I’m not sure why I feel so defensive. My voice has risen, and I’ve curled my hands into fists, like any guy who stepped close to Larkin would get a right hook to the jaw.
She stares at me for the duration of another agonizing “Firework” chorus, then rolls her eyes. “Fine. Lead me to your chariot.”
Good thing she agreed. Tossing her over my shoulder was the next option.
I attempt to help her up, but she shrugs me off with a mumbled “So damnchivalrous.”
I chuckle under my breath, thankful when we’re out of that noisy house.
“I think my ears are bleeding,” she says plaintively. “Fucking Katy Perry.”
“I was seconds from waterboarding myself to end the misery.”
She snorts. “A week of medieval rat torture would be better than listening to that song on repeat.”
I glance at her profile, can’t help noticing the cute slope of her nose. “What’s medieval rat torture?”
She stops and faces me. Her blue-green eyes are no longer sad or sharp.Villainousis the only way to describe them. “They shoved rats in a cage and placed the cage over a victim’s stomach. Then they agitated the rats by heating the cage until the rodents were frantic enough to gnaw through the person’s stomach—anything to escape the fire. Death by rat gnawing,” she adds with flair.
“You’re disturbing,” I say, twitching at the visual.
“But it’s cool, right?”
“If you’re a sadistic villain.”
“Maybeyoushould be afraid of getting into a vehicle withme.”
I laugh. “We should both text friends. Let them know our last known location.” I pull out my phone to take a picture of her, but she sticks out her tongue and pulls a face. “Now I’m really scared,” I add and snap the shot. I pretend to send the picture to someone, hoping it encourages her to actually tell a friend I’m taking her home. I want her to feel safe with me. “Your turn.”
With a headshake, she pulls out her phone and takes her time lining up the shot. I watch while she fiddles with her phone, using the seconds to examine the greenish flecks in her blue eyes, the thick sweep of her mascara-lined eyelashes. Her blond hair falls in layered strands around her face. Her cheeks are pink from blush or alcohol. A one-inch scar beside her nose gives her feminine features an edge, and the wordsexypops into my mind.
There’s no denying Larkin Gray’s appeal. Tootherguys.
“Sent,” she says and pockets her phone. “My brother is at a friend’s house on the other side of town. If you rat torture me, he now knows who you are, and you donotwant my brother pissed at you.”
“Isn’t your brother, like, ten years younger than you?”
“Right, yeah.” Her brow furrows and her nose twitches. “I just mean he’s at a sleepover and he’ll talk your ear off—worse than listening to Katy Perry. Because he’s the only brother I have.”
I side-eye her as I unlock the passenger side of my truck. I’m not sure what Larkin is hiding, but it doesn’t take a genius to notice the ridiculousness of her reply.
I grab her elbow to help her step up into my truck, but she pauses. Larkin is a tall girl. Just under six feet, if I had to guess. The way we’re standing, with her head tipped back as she gazes up at me, her lips are closer to mine than I’m used to.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Most guys I know aren’t this nice.”
