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But it’s not Lyla’s fault. She wasn’t the one giving the girl shot after shot until she can barely put one foot in front of the other.
The damn leather boots aren’t helping.
Holly looks like jailbait that wants to be ravaged in her black skirt that hugs her curves and barely covers her ass cheeks. The sweater at first looked conservative until I realized how short it was. With it hanging off one shoulder, it probably isn’t much for warmth either, which is why I bought the sweatshirt.
Having it cover her up to her knees was just a bonus.
“What were you thinking wearing that getup?” I grumble aloud.
“You don’t like my outfit?” Holly asks when she comes to a stop, with me still holding her arm. Glancing down at the front of the sweatshirt, she lifts it up, flashing me her flat stomach, and adds, “Lyla helped me pick it out.”
I jerk the material down before she flashes me her bra. “Lyla better not own anything even remotely similar to this shit.” Shaking my head, I give her arm a tug to keep us moving in the direction of the orange and yellow building with only three letters lit up on the old sign out front.
“Where are we going?” Holly asks.
“To that diner. You hungry?”
Her hand goes to her belly. “He didn’t even feed me before he robbed me. I had a bad feeling about him. I should’ve listened to my guts.”
“Yes, you should have,” I agree. After I get some food in her to soak up the alcohol, I’ll try to get a description of this asshole, see if I can track him down. I don’t tell Holly that I’m gonna look for her car in case I’m not able to find the fucker.
We take a seat at an empty booth, the table a little sticky but mostly clean, and look over the menu.
When the young, peppy waitress comes to take our order, I look to Holly, who whispers to me loudly, “I don’t have any money.”
“I’ve got the bill,” I tell her and the waitress. “Order whatever you want.”
She asks for a cheeseburger and fries, and I get a coffee since I’m apparently going to be up a few more hours tonight. I also ask the waitress to keep the glasses of water coming.
While Holly’s slurping down her first glass of ice water and I’m waiting for my coffee to cool off, I say, “Tell me about this asshole who robbed you.”
“Oh. Okay.” She stares out the dark window as if picturing him. “He’s average height. Brown hair. Cute. Ish.”
“What’s his name, Holly?”
Her brown eyes turn to me, looking sleepy, heavy. “Ah, Joe. Or at least that’s the name he gave me. I’m not sure if anything he said was true.”
“Where did you meet him?”
She finishes off her water and then says, “At the gas station this morning.”
My fingers clench around the coffee mug so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break. “You went on a date with a stranger you met at a gas station? Are you fucking serious?”
Holly sits up a little straighter on her side of the booth. “You know, I feel bad enough about it as it is, Mr. Perry. Please don’t treat me like I’m a child or I’m one of your daughters.”
I hold my tongue until the food comes, waiting until after she’s downed about half the burger and most of her fries before I ask, “Which gas station?”
“Huh?”
“Which gas station were you at when you met this guy?”
“Oh, uh, I think it was that Gastown on that side road. You know, the one near the high school?”
Thankfully, I do.
“What’s your car’s make and model? Do you know the license plate number?”
“It’s a 2018 BMW M4. And no, I don’t know the license plate number. It’s on my registration, though. Which is in the glovebox…”
