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“You hate that you want me. Don’t confuse the two.”
“Maybe.”
She sighed around my finger, and I knew then and there, with that vulnerability so bare before me, she was too drunk for this to continue.
“Bastian,” she groaned out, making it so much harder for me to stop.
She said my name like it wasn’t just a name but a breath—an extension of her, like I was already inside her.
I slipped my finger out of her mouth and helped her steady herself. “You’ve had a lot to drink. Let’s get you home.”
“Yeah, okay. I think I’m sleepy anyway.” She leaned into me, letting me support her weight as we walked to my car. “You’re such a fucking asshole sometimes, but when you’re nice, it confuses me.”
You and me both.
Thing was, she might have called me an asshole, but she wasn’t sweet, soft, or kind herself.
She was hard. Strong. The makings of a warrior.
And I’d only ever seen her softness near Tessie… and now. When alcohol had reduced her barriers to nothing.
She rattled off her address, though I remembered where she lived from her employee file. I helped her up to her apartment and into her bed when we got there.
The place was bare, devoid of personality, and the cabinets even emptier. No Advil. No sports electrolyte drinks. Nothing to combat the brutal headache she’d no doubt have in the morning.
At the very least, I supposed food could help. She had nothing in the fridge and a lone carton of ice cream nestled in the back of the freezer.
I grabbed it, a spoon, and a napkin, then headed into the bedroom. She laid on her mattress, her dress thrown to the floor, her body all curves and lace, her eyes closed and limbs sprawled across the bed like limp noodles.
When I entered, her eyes shifted to me, and she took in the carton of ice cream.
“Ice cream is cheaper than therapy.”
“Probably.”
“I hate therapy.”
I dimmed the lights, then turned back to her with a raised brow. “You’ve been?”
Was it wrong to take advantage of her forthcoming state? Probably.
Did I care? Not in the slightest.
There were worse ways to extract information.
Her eyes drifted shut. “Yes. I still go, because I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I reminded her.
“Yes, I do.” She opened her mouth wide.
I sat beside her on the bed, my body putting a giant dent in the shitty mattress. “What are you doing?”
“I want ice cream, but I don’t think I could move my arms if I tried.”
“Because of the ice shift?”
I needed to get her off that shift. It was an asshole move, even for me.
