Page 8 of Save Me

Crap.

"Worried I'm off the wagon, Isla?"

"What? No, of course not." I chew on my bottom lip. "It's okay if you are, you know. It happens," I whisper. "No one is perfect. I heard that sobriety isn't a linear journey anyway. It's more like a wave for most people, with highs and lows. The important thing is that you get back on the wagon, Brantley. You did it once. I know you can do it again."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, staring at me with this…look…in his eyes. It's heat and steam and somehow soft and fierce at the same time.

My heart races, my mouth going bone-dry.

Lord, he is beautiful. Short dark hair, paired with his piercing green eyes, beard, and strong jaw are just the tip of the iceberg with him. The tattoos licking up his collarbones are all too attractive. And don't even get me started on the way his t-shirt hugs the muscles in his broad shoulders and chest or his jeans cling to his powerful thighs.

"I'm not off the wagon, little bird," he says softly. "I had a meeting with Memphis."

"Oh," I whisper.

"Now, how about you cut the shit and tell me why you're here?" He takes a step toward me, pinning me in place with those eyes. "Because we both know you've never stepped foot inside that bar." He crooks a finger beneath my chin, and itmight be my imagination, but I think he shivers. "In fact, I don't think you've ever been inside a bar at all, have you?"

"I just turned twenty-one," I whisper.

He groans like I just told him a dirty secret, his body pressing up against mine. "Doesn't matter how old you are," he murmurs, his gaze locked on my lips. "You're still a good girl at heart, baby. And good girls like you don't drink themselves stupid at titty bars."

"T-titty bar?"

A ghost of a smile slashes at his lips. "You didn't know?"

I shake my head, struck silent. Clearly, I should have looked into this place a little more before I decided to follow him here.

"Why are you really here, Isla?"

I chew on my bottom lip, not willing to tell him that I'm stalking him. If I'm too much of a good girl for a titty bar, I'm probably too much of a good girl for jail, too. Yes, I'm definitely too much of a good girl for that. It…irritates me that he has me pegged so well, though. That he knows me—or thinks he does—after meeting me just days ago.

Maybe I'm not who he thinks I am. Maybe I'm more like Bella than everyone thinks I am.

"Tell me," he growls.

"You won't answer my questions. Why should I answer yours?"

"You didn't ask questions. You asked for my help."

"Does that mean you'll answer my questions?"

"Did you drive, little bird?"

I silently shake my head.

"Of course you didn't." He releases me with a sigh, stepping back. "Well, come on then. Let's go."

"Go?" I frown over at him. "Where are we going? Inside?"

"Hell no," he snaps, scowling at me. "You aren't setting foot inside that bar. I'm taking you home."

"You do realize you can't tell me what to do, right?" I glower at him, annoyed that he thinks he can boss me around. "I'll go inside if I want to go inside."

"Oh, yeah?" His expression slips into one of amusement before he lifts his head. "Jessup!"

The scarred man standing near the door turns to look at us. Everyone in line falls silent.

"This one doesn't get in unless I say so," Brantley says loudly, nodding at me. "Not tonight or any other night. We clear?"

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