Page 24 of Between the Lines

“But it’s just not where we are.”

“And I still don’t like that shit, now what?” I asked, and she laughed.

“Nownothing,” she said. Her gaze flicked from my face to my bare chest, to my groin, then back to my face. “Actually, I should probably go.”

“I can put some clothes on,” I offered, already moving. “But you’re not going anywhere, not yet. You’ve barely been here ten minutes. That ain’t enough time for any decompressing.”

“I’m fine. Not even crying like a terrified child anymore, see?”

Again.

Shevastlyunderestimated how wide her eyes actually were, how glossy and red they remained. She absolutely still looked terrified, despite the front she was inexplicably insisting on.

“Humor me. Let me fix you a drink.”

“I can’t drive myself home if you get me liquored up.”

“So be it. I have a guest room.”

She crossed her arms, staring at me for a bit before she shook her head. “Fine. Fix the drink.”

I didn’t waste any time—I went straight to my fridge, grabbing a can of forbidden caffeinated soda. I poured it between two glasses of ice, then topped both off with heavy splashes of Kimble bourbon before I slid one across the counter for her.

She just looked at it.

“What’s wrong?”

Her shoulders dropped, and she shook her head, not looking up until I reached across the counter toforceher to look at me.

“I’m cold. And I’m still hungry.He made me drop my fries,” she sobbed, breaking into a fresh new round. For a second, I was too stunned to react, but I knew it wasn’treallyabout being cold, orreallyabout the fries.

It was about being violated—that hoodie was a favorite she’d worn for years.

And I would bet good money she’d never visit that restaurant chain again, for fear of triggering memories of that moment.

Even with what most people would call “nothing” having happened…something important had been taken from her.

And forwhat?

I rounded the counter to pull her against me again, offering as much comfort as I could while she cried. After a bit, she pulled back and looked at me—at my groin, which was basically at eye level—and then picked up her drink, draining it in one gulp.

“Can I get another one of these?” she asked, already standing up. Before I could answer, she’d reached across the counter to take mine.

I didn’t complain.

After what she’d just experienced, she could have it.

“What do you think the chances are that video of that bullshit isn’t spreading around the internet right now?” she asked, putting the glass back down. “There was no way nobody heard my screaming—those girls that had just asked for a picture, they walked out at the same time. They were probably filming, instead of fuckinghelpingme.”

I hated that she was probably right.

I wouldn’t invalidate her feelings by lying—the chances this would be as compartmentalized as she wanted werelow.

In hell.

“I hope that doesn’t happen. But if it does…”when it does,“you know I’ve got your back at every step.”

She nodded, brushing a fresh upswell of tears from her eyes. “I should probably call Pierre. Tell him before he finds out somewhere else.”

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