Page 10 of Shadowing Charlotte
Fuck…She knew. How the fuck did she know?
"Not like this, I don't!" I snarled at her, recoiling. A wounded look flashed in her eyes, before her pout transformed into a glare.
"Fuck off, then. I don't need a babysitter!" she yelled, shoving against my chest.
Oh, but she did. She needed someone to protect her from her own fucking stupidity.
"Damnit, Charlotte!" I found myself shouting over the music, gripping her arm. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"
She smirked at me, like she'd just won a game of fucking chess. It made me want to shake her, if only to rattle some sense into her addled brain.
Suddenly, something changed in her expression. Her smiled died away and a look of panic flashed in her eyes. Charlotte turned and shoved her way through the crowd toward the bathroom. The undignified shrieks and protests from people around us fell on deaf ears as I followed her into the bathroom. I couldn't care less what the rest of those women thought about me. All I cared about was Charlotte.
Just like the night I'd taken her home, she vomited, falling to her knees on the disgusting bathroom floor with her head over the toilet. The moment she started to heave, I was behind her, gathering her auburn curls in my fist and holding them away from her face.
"You really shouldn't mix shit, Charlotte," I scolded gently. My free hand rubbed over her back as I sat down on the floor behind her.
Charlotte groaned, sinking back against me, her head falling sideways to rest against my shoulder.
"Why?" she asked in a soft moan of discomfort, nuzzling me like a fucking cat.
"Because they'll fuck up your brain." She shook her head, dissatisfied with my answer. "Why what?" I asked.
"Why did you choose me?" she asked weakly.
"I didn't choose you, Charlotte. It just happened. Believe me, I wish I fucking knew," I sighed, gently running my fingers through her hair. She reeked. Vomit and alcohol and the low notes of her musky jasmine perfume intermingled unpleasantly. "Come on, baby. Let me take you home," I offered.
She nodded, her eyes falling closed as she rested her head against me, the heat of her skin prominent, even through my clothes.
"Oh, princess, what am I going to do with you?" I asked in a heavy, exasperated sigh as I helped her up off of the disgusting tile floor. Charlotte leaned against me as we weaved through the club and out onto the sidewalk, her eyes glazed over. She looked every bit as high as I knew she was. "What did you take, anyway?"
"Something blue…" she mumbled against my sleeve, clinging to me like a lifeline. Shaking my head, I pulled her closer, my arm wrapping tightly around her waist.
"You're an idiot, Charlotte…" I muttered under my breath.
"What does that make you?" she countered, her words jumbling together almost incoherently.
"A bigger one…" I replied, unable to hold back the smirk that spread across my lips. By the time we reached the car in the adjacent parking lot, she'd thrown up again. As I opened the door, Charlotte halted.
"This isn't your car," she mumbled, her honey eyes looking confused.
"You're right; it's not." I pressed against the small of her back, urging her into the passenger side.
"Where is the Camaro?" Her brows knitted together as she looked up at me, her nose doing that wrinkling thing that made her look adorable.
"At home," I answered shortly, closing the door before she could ask another question. I would need to switch rentals now that she'd seen what I was driving. Then again, perhapsthere was no need. Perhaps I didn't have to hide from her anymore. Perhaps, after tonight, things could be different.
Charlotte was quiet as I drove her home, her head lolling from side to side, tiny little huffs and whimpers falling from her lips, the kind that made my dick ache.
When we pulled up in front of her driveway, she was already half asleep. "Come on, Charlotte," I groaned, hauling her out of the car and up the path to the front door. "What's the code?" She didn't answer, letting out a sleepy sigh and rubbing her face against my sleeve. "Charlote, baby, I need you to focus," I insisted. "What's the code?"
"Lottie," she replied dreamily. I cocked an eyebrow at her in confusion.
"What?"
"You can call me Lottie," she mumbled.
"I'm not calling you Lottie. It makes you sound like a fucking toddler, which is what you're acting like," I replied, grimacing when I realized I was chastising her like a fucking parent.
