Chapter Nineteen
Max
By the time we get to the car, I’m relieved there’s not many people around to witness me pouring this intoxicated woman into the front seat of my SUV.
It certainly wouldn’t look good to anyone who doesn’t know me.
My muscles tense at that thought and I scan the area, looking for any paparazzi or passerby with cell phones held up in the air.
I can only imagine the headlines.
“You’re actually a gentleman, aren’t you?” Sutton says, the words beginning to slur as she settles onto the front seat of my ride. “It’s not just an act.”
Frowning, I reach in and pull her seatbelt across her lap, buckling it into place. “You thought it was an act?”
She rolls her head toward me and searches my gaze with those glossy, bloodshot eyes. After a moment, she cups my cheek, then pats it gently and drops her hand. “Do you think people can change?”
My chest tightens. She’s talking about me. “Yeah, gorgeous, I think people can change. I know they can.”
I have, I want to tell her, but this doesn’t seem like the time to bring up that Vegas trip.
There’s a sadness in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
It’s been nagging me all night, but I couldn’t find the time—or the courage—to bring it up.
After that intense moment while we waited for our food, we spent the rest of the game in the nosebleeds, watching and laughing, but there was a hint of something I just couldn’t place in her eyes.
A bitterness to some of her jokes that didn’t strike me as having anything to do with her usual sass where I’m concerned.
It was something else, and the more she drank, the more it began to feel like she was chasing something.
Or running from it.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask.
She closes her eyes. “Bruins lost.”
“Yeah, well, that should be a good thing for a Hoosier fan.”
She snorts but doesn’t look at me.
“There’s something else going on.” I reach to run my hand over her head, then quickly pull back when she turns to look at me.
“I forgot you’re, like, the king of observance.”
I incline my head. “Comes with the job description.”
Of a Dominant, I don’t add. The ability to read people, from body language to eye movement, to all the tiny little indicators in between, is what makes me a good Dom. It’s what a submissive is saying when they aren’t talking at all that truly tells you how they’re feeling.
With Sutton, reading her, knowing her tells, feels like second nature.
But I can’t tell her any of that. Not when she’s wasted. Revealing the truth is something that needs to happen on neutral ground, while we’re both sober and clear-headed.
I know my girl; she’ll want her wits about her when she tells me to go to hell.
Finally, she sighs loudly, then whispers, “It’s my dad’s anniversary.”
“Shit,” I say under my breath. “I had no idea.” I open my mouth to ask if she’s okay, then realize that’s a stupid thing to ask. Clearly she’s not.
Instead of platitudes, I reach for her without stopping to think. If I consider my actions, I’ll talk myself out of touching her, and right now it feels like she needs it.
Like she needs me.
I run my hand over her hair and she swivels her head toward me, eyes opening as she nuzzles into my palm.
My heart skips around clumsily like a drunken sailor. My breath gets lodged in my throat.
She licks her lips and my mouth goes dry.
“Kiss me,” she murmurs, and God help me, I almost obey.
Leaning forward, I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than I should, but fuck me if this isn’t testing every last ounce of my resolve.
With my lips against her skin, I whisper, “I’m sorry you’re hurting.
” Then I pull back and close the passenger side door, kicking myself all the way around the car because she was right there for the kissing. Lips primed and ready. Waiting.
Wanting.
Climbing in, I catch the soft sound of her snoring and have to bite back a laugh.
No, this was definitely not the time for our first kiss.
Hell, I’ve waited this long; what’s a little longer?
I start the car and push the button to warm Sutton’s seat, then reach to put her address into the navigation system and realize I have no clue where the woman lives.
I’ve learned a lot about her over the years, but discovering her home address has always felt like a line crossed, so I’ve refrained from that search.
My hand hovers over the touchscreen on the dash, the navigation screen open and waiting for me to enter a destination.
Looking over at her, I briefly consider taking her to my place. I have plenty of guest rooms, some that have never even been used, but—
I whistle lowly as I realize what an epic mistake that would be.
If she woke up in my house, she’d be in the same place where Dominus trapped her in the bathroom last week. On top of what a shock that might be, I’m certainly not prepared for the conversation that would follow.
Like I said, terrible timing.
“Sutton,” I say, nudging her thigh. “Wake up, darlin’.”
Her eyes open and she sits straight up, blinking like it takes her a moment to register her surroundings.
When she finally focuses on me, I motion toward the touchscreen. “You need to give me your address or tell me how to get to your place.”
Sutton barks out a laugh. “I’m not going home with you.”
I’m careful not to let my amusement show. Three minutes of napping and she’s back to the woman I know. She probably has no recollection that she asked me for a kiss.
“I’m not taking you home with me, Sutton, I’m driving you home, making sure you get there safely, and then you will sleep this off, by yourself.”
She struggles to keep at least one eye open as she focuses on me. “What if I want to go to your house?”
I’ve waited so long for her to say that, but she’s shitfaced, and I’m not a fucking creep. With a sigh, I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
“You’re married.”
I level her with a look that says I know she knows I’m not, then press a button on the steering wheel. When the dash lights up purple, I say, “Call Nina.”
“Ah,” Sutton says, “Nina, the wife.”
“Work wife,” I admit.
It only rings once and Nina picks up. “It’s eleven o’clock at night, Maxwell.” Nina’s voice is heavy with sleep.
“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.” She huffs, but doesn’t retort, so I continue, “I need a phone number for an Imogen…?”
“Kelly,” Sutton provides.
“Imogen Kelly. She lives in…?”
“WeHo.”
“Got it,” Nina says. “You couldn’t have googled this yourself?”
“Do I not pay you enough, String-bean?”
My assistant sighs. “No, you don’t, Maxipad.”
Sutton rolls her head to look at me, one eyebrow cocked adorably.
“I’ll text you the number.” Nina ends the call, and before Sutton can get hung up on Nina’s nickname for me, I explain my nickname for her.
“We grew up together,” I say as I wait for the text to come through. “Me, Gray, Nina, and a few others who’ve made the move to be in L.A. and help out at Apex. She was Nina-bina when we were kids, then Neen-bean.” I shrug. “Eventually String-bean just sort of stuck.”
“I bet she loves that, Maxipad.”
I groan inwardly. Maybe she won’t remember that little bit of information come morning.
The text comes through and I press the number Nina provided.
Imogen doesn’t answer the first time I call, so I immediately call again.
“Since when do spammers double-call?” she says by way of greeting.
“Imogen? Mo?”
“Who is this?”
“Max Cruz.”
She makes an appreciative sound in her throat. “If you’re calling to ask for my permission to marry—”
“Imogen!” Sutton snaps, the word followed by a hiccup.
“Slutty? Where are you? What’s wrong?”
Slutty? And I thought my nickname was bad.
Sutton opens her mouth to answer, then hiccups again and plops back against the seat with a frustrated little huff.
“She’s fine,” I say, though I guess that’s not entirely true, is it?
“Did you guys finally go out on a date?”
Finally? My lips quirk up into a smile, but I quickly mask it by rubbing my hand over my jaw. “We ran into each other at the Bruins game. Sutton had a few IPAs—”
“Five,” the woman in question says matter-of-factly.
My eyes widen as Imogen screeches, “Five?”
Sutton frowns, eyes closed. “Maybe six.”
“She won’t tell me where she lives,” I continue. “Do you mind texting me her address?”
Imogen snorts. “Yeah, right, like I’m going to send my drunk best friend home with some guy I don’t even know. I’ll text you mine.”
Shaking my head, I run a hand over my jaw. “I wasn’t planning on going inside—”
“Can she walk?”
I look over at the brunette curled up in my passenger seat and chuckle. “About as well as a newborn gazelle, I imagine.”
“Okay, then I guess I’ll meet you at the curb and you can help me get her inside. And then you can leave,” she says pointedly. She hangs up before I can respond, and a split second later, her address comes through in a text and I enter the location into the Alpina’s navigation system.
Sutton is snoring softly again before I even exit the stadium parking lot.