Page 119 of Breaking the Rules

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"That doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"Why?"

"Because… I… I'm not a cock blocker." Her fingers curl into her seatbelt.

"I wasn't gonna fuck her."

"Why not?"

"She's too nice."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"No. That's all she is to me. Nice."

"And you only want premium pussy?"

"That's a douchey way to put it," I say.

"Guess I spend too much time with Dean."

I stop at a red light. We're less than a dozen miles from Emma's place in Venice, but it feels like we're in another dimension. Brentwood is clean, rich, empty, soulless.

I study her expression, but it doesn't help. She's defensive. I get that. But not why. "What happened with Vanilla Latte?"

"Nothing."

"Em, you're shaking."

"No." She forces herself to sit upright. "I'm fine."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know. Enough."

"Enough?"

"I wanted to relax." She makes eye contact through the mirror. "Is that not allowed?"

Green light falls over her as the stoplight changes. I have to break eye contact to look to the street. It's empty, but better safe than sorry. "Approximate it."

"I wasn't pouring shots. I don't know." She wraps her hand around her seatbelt. "Why does that matter?"

"Drinking fucks with your judgment."

"Don't." She leans in to turn the radio up. "Nothing happened. I just wanted to be home."

That's bullshit.

But pushing her isn't working.

The street curves to the left. It's a long stretch of empty road. Then more lights.

They're all green.

It's like the city wants us home as quickly as possible.

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