Chapter 23 #2
I shook my head, insistent. "No, I do. You didn’t have to do that." I let out a small, breathless laugh. "I actually really didn't want you to, but..."
Fuck. I looked at her, and my heart felt like it was too big for my chest. Her eyes were soft, a humoured smile playing on her lips, her face the picture of patience.
This—having fucking feelings—was so much.
It was a heavy, beautiful weight that settled in my gut every time she looked at me.
I still couldn't believe she just met my parents.
They were going to grill me the second I was alone with them.
How could they not? Fucking hell, a woman like her didn't just show up on our street with a private driver every day.
And yet, for the first time in my life, I was actually excited to tell them about someone.
"I know you didn't," Carrie chuckled, squeezing my hand tighter. "I wasn't exactly planning on a formal introduction today." She hesitated, her gaze searching mine for any sign of a lie. "I hope I didn't cross a line, Alex. I would never want to make you uncomfortable in your own home."
"You didn’t cross a line," I said, my voice barely a whisper over the steady hum of the engine. "I don’t know why, but it was... it was perfect."
Carrie’s expression shifted, her eyes searching mine with a terrifyingly sharp focus. She reached out, her fingers tracing a slow, agonisingly soft line across my cheek. Her touch felt like it was pulling the honesty right out of my throat.
"Why was it perfect, darling? Use your words."
My heart was hammering against my ribs, trapped by the intensity of her gaze. "Because you saw where I come from," I admitted, the words feeling raw and unshielded. "The damp, the meds, the faded, paper-thin carpet... and you didn't flinch. You were just you. And they loved you."
A flicker of genuine vulnerability passed over her face—a softening around her eyes that told me my words hit exactly where they were meant to. But before she could respond, the car glided to a halt, and the flickering neon sign of Carlos reflected off the tinted window.
The moment was over. Carrie steeled herself, her spine straightening as she reverted instantly to the commanding, untouchable woman the world knew.
She stepped out of the car first, then held the door open for me, her hand resting on the frame in a silent, proprietary gesture that told everyone on the street exactly who I was with.
Mia and Adrian were waiting by the front door, and the look on Mia’s face was worth every second of my awkwardness. She was grinning like she’d just won the lottery, her eyes darting between me and the literal goddess standing at my shoulder.
"Look at you!" Mia squealed, lunging forward to wrap me in a suffocating hug. She pressed me into her chest—her tits looked amazing in that dress, but all I could think about was how short I felt compared to everyone else tonight.
"Ugh, stop," I groaned, my voice muffled against her. "Between you, Adrian, and her, I feel like a fucking hobbit. Why is everyone so tall?"
Adrian, ever the gentleman, stepped forward and offered a polite hand to Carrie. "Adrian. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who’s managed to keep Alex quiet for more than five minutes."
Carrie took his hand, her smile professional but tipped with a sharp, knowing edge. "Caroline. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Adrian."
While they exchanged pleasantries, Mia was practically vibrating next to me, her eyes screaming What the fuck is happening? as she looked at my skirt and then back at Carrie. I just rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool while my face burned.
The victory for Mia was complete when Carrie stepped in, wrapping a possessive arm around my waist and pulling me flush against her side. Mia actually let out a tiny squeal of delight, her "wingwoman" mission officially retired.
"Shall we?" Carrie asked, her voice a low command that left no room for argument.
We headed toward the entrance, but as we crossed the threshold, Adrian reached out to greet me properly. He leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek—it was a new move for him, a polite "gentleman" gesture that Mia clearly found endearing.
But shit.
Carrie’s grip on my waist tightened instantly, her fingers digging into my hip.
I quickly put some distance between Adrian and me, but he didn't seem to notice the shift in the atmosphere.
He just wrapped his arm around Mia as we headed toward the bar, completely oblivious to the fact that the woman standing next to me looked like she was about to dismantle him.
We weaved through the crowd toward the bar, the air thick with the smell of cheap gin and loud music.
Anthony, the bartender, spotted us immediately.
He was covered in tattoos and usually took zero shit, but his face broke into a grin when he saw Mia and me.
We’d worked the club circuit enough to be family in places like this.
Then his eyes shifted to the woman attached to my hip, and his grin slowly turned into an impressed look.
I knew exactly what he was thinking. The last time we were all here, Carrie had paid for my drink from across the room, looking every bit the cold-blooded supervillain.
I’d spent the whole night feeling physically sick with nerves, wondering how the hell I was supposed to go over and thank my own lecturer.
How times had changed.
"The usuals?" Anthony asked, his voice booming over the music.
Adrian stepped up to the bar, assuming the role of the provider. "Large glass of red for Mia, a pint of Moretti for me, and a rum and coke for Lex," he said automatically. He then turned to Carrie, offering a polite, slightly charming smile. "And for you?"
Carrie’s face was a mask of deadpan ice. "Whiskey. Neat."
She didn't thank him. In fact, she looked insulted. I could practically feel the fucking heat radiating off her; in her mind, taking care of me was her job, and Adrian had just overstepped a boundary he didn't even know existed.
Anthony chimed in, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf. "Don't worry, Dr. Carter. I’ve still got that special reserve you like tucked away."
I tilted my head, blinking at her. Fucking wait, what? "Are you a regular here?" I mouthed to her. She didn't answer; she just watched Anthony pour the amber liquid with a look of quiet satisfaction.
Adrian tapped his card on the reader, paying for the round before Carrie could even reach for her purse.
She let him do it without a word, but there was a flicker in her eyes—a predatory glint that told me Caroline was not about to let some man be the 'alpha' of this evening.
She was so fucking hot. She was letting him win the battle of the bill, but I knew she was already planning how to win the war.
"Let’s grab that booth," Mia suggested, pointing to a corner that was surprisingly empty.
We headed over, and Carrie took immediate control of the seating arrangement. She didn't suggest; she directed. She manoeuvred me into the inside seat against the wall, effectively boxing me in. She sat on the edge, her body a physical barrier between me and the rest of the room.
As soon as she was settled, her hand found its home.
Her fingers wrapped firmly around my thigh, her grip proprietary and unyielding.
Fuck, I was going to combust. She didn't look at me; she started scanning the room like a general surveying a battlefield, sipping her whiskey with a terrifyingly calm focus.
Mia leaned in, her eyes wide as she took in Carrie's hand on my leg. "So," Mia started, her voice dripping with mischief. "Carlos on a Thursday. Not exactly the opera, is it, Dr. Carter?"
Carrie finally looked away from the crowd, her gaze landing on Mia with a razor-sharp smirk. "No, Mia. But I find the local wildlife... fascinating to observe."
I felt her fingers dig a little deeper into my thigh. I was pretty sure my heart was about to beat out of my chest.
The conversation at the table took a surreal turn as Carrie leaned forward, her "Dr. Carter" mask replaced by a version of herself that was terrifyingly charming.
She started asking Adrian about his role as a finance manager, and within seconds, they were deep in the weeds of market trends and fiscal quarters.
Adrian was clearly lapsing into "impressed mode," leaning in and gesturing with his pint, while Carrie listened with a polite, razor-sharp focus that made her look like she was presiding over a boardroom.
Across the table, Mia was having a physical breakdown.
She was staring at me, her eyes wider than the rim of her wine glass.
She kept making frantic, silent gestures—pointing at Carrie’s hand, which hasn't moved an inch from my thigh, and then back at me with an expression that said: What the actual fuck is happening?
Are you dating your lecturer? Is this real life?
I kept my face a mask of bored indifference, sipping my rum and coke and pretending I had no idea what her silent mime act meant. I even offered her a confused shrug, which earned me a middle finger under the edge of the table.
Finally, Mia gave up on the telepathy. She huffed, pulled out her phone, and started typing with a vengeance. A second later, my pocket buzzed.
I pulled my phone out, shielding the screen from Carrie’s peripheral vision.
Mia: Bitch, when are you going to tell me how you went from being on your knees for this woman to fucking dating her?
I choked on my drink, a stray ice cube hitting the back of my throat. I let out a jagged cough, and the hand on my thigh tightened instantly.
"Are you alright, darling?" Carrie asked, her voice smooth and maternal, yet it carried that dark, private undertone that told me she knew exactly what was happening. She didn't even break eye contact with Adrian as she asked.
"Fine," I rasped, wiping my mouth. "Just... went down the wrong way."