Page 22 of That Last Secret
“You are not getting in the car with a random person like this. If it means I’m a protective asshole, then so be it. But when I lay my head down to sleep tonight, I want it to be in good conscience that you’re home safe.”
Emiline’s eyes widen, and she gasps. She didn’t expect me to say that, and truthfully, neither did I. But standing in front of her and seeing the state she’s in, I just can’t let her out of my sight.
I reluctantly release my hold on her and let my arms fall to the side. I then gesture toward the door with a nod. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.”
“I—Uh. Okay,” she stutters. “Yeah. I mean, thank you.”
“No need to thank me, Emmy.”
“You just had to ruin it by calling me that,” she groans, pushing past me.
I don’t say anything back as she washes her hands and doesn’t give me a passing look again before heading out the door with me on her heels.
So much for trying to avoid her.
The light shiningthrough my blinds causes me to groan. I’m not even sure I can open my eyes with the pounding headache feeling like a rock band concert behind them.
After a few minutes, I reluctantly open my eyes and notice it has to be at least mid-morning.Fuck.I shoot upright in bed and assess my surroundings. I find Brooke lying in my bed next to me, utterly dead to the world. I have no idea what time we got home last night.
She must hear me wake up because she stirs next to me.
“My head,” she groans. “Why is it so loud?”
I huff out a light laugh that causes the pounding in my head to intensify. I bring my fingers to my temples to massage them. “Yeah, mine too.”
“I need coffee. I need sustenance. I need a greasy as hell Taylor ham, egg, and cheese on a roll,” she moans.
“You’re never allowed to eat one again if you call it that,” I say, smacking her upper arm. “It’s a pork roll.”
“I’m too tired to argue semantics with you, Em.” Brooke rolls over in bed, her eyes half open to shield them from the sunlight pouring in. “Don’t you have fucking blinds?”
“I do. I must have been so out of it last night that I forgot to close them before bed. I don’t even remember getting back here, if I’m being honest. Even you lying next to me is a surprise.”
I should be able to remember getting home.
Brooke laughs. Soft at first, before she buries her face into the pillow as her laugh intensifies.
I toss a pillow at her head. “This isn’t funny. That was so dangerous. We could have died or been kidnapped.”
She finally sits upright in bed, and I can’t help but notice that she’s wearing my sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt from my closet. Since we didn’t make plans for after the night, I’m relieved she’s here and we got back safely.
“That’s impossible when New York City’s finest police officers are the ones that brought us home,” she says.
My jaw falls open. “What? Who?”
“Before I get into the details about what happened, I need food.”
Standing on my side of the bed, I watch her grab her phone from her purse, which she left on the floor next to my bed last night. I remain still as I see her texting, probably ordering breakfast sandwiches and coffee for delivery to my apartment. Without asking any more questions, I leave my room to brush my teeth, my mind filled with thoughts as I try to remember the details of us leaving the bar.
Who the hell brought us home?
Maybe Mason did.
I remember Mason asking me to dance before the night became a blur. I said yes, even though I don’t really care for himif I’m being honest. From the little interaction I had with him last night, he seems like a cocky boy.
I say ‘boy’ because that’s how he sounded when any word left his mouth. He dared to say, and I quote, “This dress is smoking hot, but would look hotter if it was on my bedroom floor.”
My skin is crawling just thinking about it.