She nodded her head up and down like a goddamn bobblehead. “Yes. Yes we do. Right here. Right now.”
Not a good idea. She couldn’t even stand up by herself. She was weaving back and forth, and looked like she was going to drop to the floor any minute. In fact . . .
He caught her before she fell. “Okay, here we go.” He scooped her up in his arms. Jenna was right there with Elizabeth’s purse and a kiss to his cheek.
“Here you go. Good luck.”
She held the door for him.
“Thanks, sis.”
Elizabeth lifted her head and glared at him. “I don’t want you to take me home. You’re fired.”
“So you told me. I’m taking you home anyway. You can fire me again when we get there.”
“Okay.” Her head dropped to his shoulder, and she was blissfully quiet on the ride home. Only instead of taking her home, he took her to his house, where she’d have less of a chance of making an escape when he tried to talk to her.
She passed out on the ride home, didn’t wake up when he carried her into his house and up the stairs to his bedroom. He took off her shoes and covered her, and she didn’t move.
She was out. Totally and utterly out. Whatever he wanted to say to her was going to have to wait until tomorrow.
Shit.
He turned out the light and closed the door.
He went downstairs, picked up where he’d been on his Xbox game, and figured he was going to be up for a while tonight, figuring out what he was going to say in the morning.
ELIZABETH WOKE WITH A START AT THE SOUND OF A door closing, shot up in bed, and blinked her eyes open.
Ugh. Cotton mouth.
Whiskey.
This was all Jenna’s fault.
Not really, but always nicer to blame someone else for your own stupidity.
She needed coffee, stat. She forced her eyes open, and that’s when she realized she was not in her own bedroom.
Even worse, this was Gavin’s bedroom.
Double shit.
She vaguely remembered him showing up at Riley’s last night. Thank God Jenna had the presence of mind not to let her drive home. Not that she would have been foolish enough to do so, but drunks never had common sense.
She didn’t remember exchanging much in the way of verbiage with Gavin last night, so maybe they hadn’t gotten into it. She’d likely been too drunk to have any sort of intelligent conversation anyway.
Good. She had nothing to say to him anyway.
She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.
Holy crap, ten a.m.
She really should give up alcohol. Or at least alcohol binges when you’re mad about a man.
Good thing she didn’t fall in love often. Or ever.
At least she never intended to fall in love again. The wear and tear on the body, heart, and soul was too great. She’d already invested enough years of her life in Gavin, and for what? To be called a whore?
She should have listened to her mother. Love hadn’t worked for her mother, and it sure as hell hadn’t worked for her. She was going to take up Tori’s lifestyle in the future. Career first, men were to be thought of only as recreation, and there was no such thing as love.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, checking her status.
A little shaky, slightly nauseated, and desperate for a cup of coffee. Other than that, she was okay. Now she had to get out of here.
She found her shoes and slipped them on, then opened the door.
She smelled coffee. Oh, God. She didn’t care if she was forced to have a civil five-minute conversation with Gavin. She was going to have a cup of coffee. She tiptoed downstairs, hoping he was asleep or, even better, gone.
As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she spotted Gavin leaning against the counter. He lifted his gaze from the newspaper to look at her. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, and oh, God, he looked so good. His hair was messy, and she wanted to go up to him, put her arms around him, and mess his hair up a little more with her fingers. She wanted to kiss him and ask him why he couldn’t love her as much as she loved him.
This was why she was a cold-hearted bitch. Love just fucking hurt too much to risk the attempt. She’d tried. She’d failed. It sucked.
She walked into the room.
“You’re awake,” he said, laying the newspaper on the counter.
“Apparently.”
“Feel okay?”
“I’ll live.”
“Coffee?”
“Desperate for some.”
He grabbed a cup and poured, held it out for her.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t try to engage her in conversation while she drank down the sobering, life-affirming brew. For that she was grateful. She needed to consume an entire pot of it, but not here. Not with him.
She laid the cup down and fished in her purse for her phone. “I’ll just call a taxi to take me to my car.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
He laid his hand over hers. “Elizabeth . . .”
She pulled her hand away. “Gavin, save it. I don’t want to hear whatever you have to say.”
“I’m not going to go away until you let me say it.”