Page 50 of Broken Instrument

She grabs my wrist and tugs it away from the key. “You know what? No. No, we’re not going to the hospital. It sounds like a terrible idea––”

“Hadley––”

“Come inside with me. Please? I feel really good, and I want to keep feeling good, and the hospital will make me feel like poop, and I don’t want to feel like poop. Can we please––”

“You’ve been drugged––”

She smashes her finger against my lips. “Hush. I feel fine. Great, actually. Just come inside––”

Grabbing her wrist, I pull her finger away from my mouth and warn, “Hadley.”

“Come inside. We’ll snuggle. You’ll like it.”

“Hadley, you don’t understand. I need to make sure you aren’t having an allergic reaction, or that he didn’t slip you too much, or––”

The hinges on my car squeal in protest as she shoves the passenger door open and stumbles into the warm, night air. “I’m not going to the hospital. I feel fine. Great,” she repeats, “and I don’t want to waste this feeling or this night by being poked and prodded. Wait. Being poked sounds pretty nice”––she winks––“but not in the hospital, and not by a bunch of doctors. I’m going inside, and there isn’t a thing you can do or say to change my mind.”

And with that, she flips her hair over her shoulder and walks a zigzag line toward her building.

Like a stone, the guilt from the situation feels heavy in my gut. As I watch Hadley make a fool out of herself, my phone rings. Sonny’s name flashes across the screen, and I squeeze my phone tight, threatening to break the glass. I don’t have time for him. Not right now. I shove it back into my pocket, turn the car off again, and race to catch up with Hadley.

I can’t leave her alone.

She stumbles a bit, her legs wobbly, so I wrap my arm around her waist and let her lean into me. And I hate how good it feels. Her curves meld against my side, and her fruity scent teases my nostrils, so I hold my breath to keep from leaning closer. It doesn’t stop her from nuzzling against my neck and breathing deep, though.

“Seriously, Fender.” She squeezes me against her as I dig into her purse and search for her keys. When I find them, I shove the door open and guide her inside. Like a curvy monkey, she clings to me, her hands sliding up and down my body while making my blood rush south.

Not. The. Time.

When her fingers slide past the waistband of my jeans, I grab her wrist and force her back a few steps.

“You should get some sleep,” I tell her.

“Okay. But only if you put me to bed.”

Digging deep for strength, I tug her down the hall and open the first door on the left to find it’s a bathroom.

“Wrong door.” She laughs. “But nice try. What’s behind door number two?” she adds, using her best show host impression, which makes me wonder if she chose the wrong profession. I shouldn’t find her amusing right now. Not when everything is so messed up. But I can’t help it. I roll my eyes and keep moving forward.

When we reach her bedroom at the end of the hall, the door bounces against the back wall as I shove it open and tug Hadley toward the four-poster bed tucked in the corner. It’s covered in a black and white floral comforter and has a dozen pillows placed along the headboard. It would be annoying as shit to make every morning but probably feels like clouds when she’s sleeping at night. I don’t know why, but the sight makes my mouth tilt up before disappearing.

“Come on, Hads. Let’s get you in bed.”

She turns in my arms and faces me, running her hands along my chest and taking in every contour of my torso. “I couldn’t agree more. You should join me.”

Again, I grab her wrist, desperate for an ounce of self-control. “That’s a bad idea, Hads.”

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t you right now.”

“Who says? I feel like me. Only happier. And hornier.” Her big, doe eyes peek up at me from behind her dark frames. “You should kiss me now.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, Hads.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a bad idea, and you’re not you right now,” I repeat.

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