“No, my mom.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Huh. I figured you hatched out of a rock or something.”
“Very funny.” It wasn’t his fault. I let them in as far as they needed for their sakes, not mine, and no further. “What do you need Walker for?”
“He’s not answering his phone.” He tried one more time, nodding his head absentmindedly to the beat of Josh’s ring-back. “Still not there. Can you drive a stick shift?”
I arched an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“Yeah, well, I need you to drive Sam’s car home.” He glanced over my shoulder at the timer on the oven. “We have more than enough time before your precious cuisine burns.”
“Where is Sam’s car, and why can’t she drive it?”
He sighed. “Oscars.” He named the local flight-school bar. “And she passed driving standard two hours ago.”
Chapter Four
Sam
I felt alive. And drunk.
Whatever, it was awesome, and a hell of a lot better than crying into my pillow over stuff I couldn’t change. No matter what I did, my life was now defined by one stupid mistake.
A mistake that had felt like the first rational decision I’d ever made—and burned me worse than half the stupid shit I’d ever pulled.
“Can I buy you a shot?” a half-attractive guy asked, coming into my field of blurred vision and checking out my girls. There was a way hotter guy behind him, but he wasn’t looking my way, and truthfully, I wasn’t interested in anything but drinking.
“Yes!” I gave him my hundred-mega-watt grin, pushing every dark thought far enough back that I could drown it with alcohol. “Tequila?”
The bartender lifted her eyebrow at me, and I mirrored the expression. What? Ember had left for Nashville a couple hours ago after not even having a single drink with me, and I didn’t need another babysitter. The bartender shook her head and slid the shot across the bar with salt and lime. I slammed it back, savoring the burn and anticipating the numb that would quickly follow.
I was so sick of feeling. Hoping. Trying.
“So what’s your story? You a local? Because I haven’t seen anything nearly as hot as you are around here.”
I took in his crew cut, arrogant grin, and West Point ring on his left hand. “Nope, Lieutenant, I’m a transplant, and entirely out of your league. But thank you for the shot.” Crap. I think that came out more slurred than intended.
“Is there anyone we can call for you?” the hot one asked, tearing his eyes off the football game playing on the big screen.
“Do I look like a baby who needs a sitter?” I spat back, my head feeling blissfully detached from my body.
“Hell no,” the mediocre one answered. “Not with those curves.”
The hot one glared at the mediocre one. “You look like you might need a ride home.”
“Well, I don’t. Thank you.” Home. Like I even had one of those. No, just a collection of different houses Mom moved us to at duty stations. But I did have Jagger’s house. Shit. Did I bring my house key? I hadn’t attached it to my key ring. Jagger was going to be pissed if I lost it on the first day.
“Bateman?” Hot one asked. Shit, I’d spoken aloud.
“You know him?”
A strange smile flirted across his face. “You could definitely say that.” He nodded to the bartender and then stepped outside.
Another shot and a cut-off warning later, the jukebox cranked, and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” raced through my veins. Dancing. Yes, dancing would be awesome. My fingers dug into the bar as I hoisted myself onto the barstool.
“Holy shit.” The guy muttered. I was past caring that my miniskirt probably didn’t cover my ass at this angle. “Need a hand?” He reached up and helped me step onto the bar.