8. - – Drake
CHAPTER EIGHT
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DRAKE
The quiver in her voice undid me right there in the middle of the street.
A siren calling to her prey. She couldn’t have known I’d come looking for her.
Something had snapped in her, and it may have been the intensity of the scene or the eye contact I knew I should have avoided.
Whatever it was, I will fix it. Her gaze lifts to meet mine as I grasp her elbow and lift her to her feet.
I gave her a moment to breathe before scolding her.
“You could have been hit by a fucking car. Why did you run off like that?”
“Why do you care?” she screamed back at me. Unfortunately for me, I’m right fucking next to her. “I care because I...” I pause, stumbling over the words. “Because we’re friends,” I offer, hoping maybe she’ll agree and follow me back inside.
“Friends keep in touch; you, sir, are an asshat.” She yanked her arm out of my grasp and started skipping, as if she had forgotten how to run.
I suspected that too much tequila had something to do with it.
She’s faster than I anticipated, considering her heels and inebriated state.
“Hey, you can’t just run off into the dark. You’re too far from your damn house.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she yelled back at me.
I’d like to spank her ass right about now, but I don’t have the right or consent to do that.
I catch up to her and grasp her arm again.
She snarls at me like a rabid animal, and every gentlemanly atom in my body evaporates.
I slip an arm around her waist and lift her, and toss her right over my shoulder.
Not a peep of protest left her lips until she noticed someone on the sidewalk.
“Help me, I’m being kidnapped,” she screamed as we passed the security guard who followed me out of the club. She didn’t know who he was and kept begging for his help as I carried her inside. The thumping bass hides her screams and protests as I carry her to my office.
She jumps up the minute I drop her onto the small couch in the corner of my office. My door locks automatically, so she’s trapped. She yanks at the door with the grace of a drunk raccoon.
“Are you done yet?” I asked, somehow mustering some patience for her behavior.
She turned, mascara streaked down her face, and collapsed into my arms. I’d seen sub drop before, but never from the audience at a show. Her body trembled despite the warmth still on her skin from the overwhelming heat outside.
“Laura,” I whispered. She whimpered in response. There was no way I could gain any kind of consent to take care of her. I need to remain neutral and assist her through this in a purely platonic way.
Platonic is easy, I reassure her, make her feel safe and wanted, and offer water and snacks.
Walking backwards, I coaxed her into following me to the couch and wrapped her up in the soft blanket I kept tossed over the back.
She cuddled right into the blanket like a lost kitten.
Her breathing evened out, only broken by little snores and the occasional loud one.
A knock at the door steals my attention away from the sweet girl on my couch. I crack the door slowly.
“Hey, boss. The best friend is getting worried about her.” Jasmine inclines her head in Laura’s direction.
“Could you have Mason bring my car around front? I’ll drive them home.”
Jasmine eyes me wearily, “Sure, and then you’ll come back and explain why you were chasing a girl well under your age down Main Street at one in the morning.”
“Probably not.” I’m not even sure I can drive her anywhere but to my house right now.
Thanks to Claire’s impeccable directions, we only toured the neighborhood twice.
Claire introduced me to their porch goose and her dog.
Laura slept through the entire ordeal, even when I tripped over a pile of clothes on her floor and almost launched her into the air.
I gracefully recovered, removed her shoes and hair clip, then tucked her in.
I avoid the pile of clothes, tell Claire good night, and take my leave… with a promise to return and check on Laura. Not that my promises mean much to Laura right now. I’d talked myself out of reaching out to her. Everyone always says they want to keep in touch after a one-night stand… right?