Page 100 of Until Tomorrow
“Okay, in you go, pole master.” Rhett steadied my arm as the cab swayed. Damn driver needed to keep the car straight.
“Oh, wait… I’m not straight,” I said, hearing the slur in my words.
“We know, cupcake,” he retorted.
“The world is wobbly—why are you calling me cupcake?” I squinted at him. He wasn’t straight either.
“Because around drink six, you demanded fancy nicknames as a part of your mope fest, hose-meister,” he told me.When had I done that?“I’m trying here, marshmallow.”
“I like cupcakes,” I replied. “I don’t remember that.”
“After eight fucking drinks and a few shots, no one is surprised, babycakes.” He chucked. “Duck your goddamn head. Shit, you are tall.”
“So tall!” I exclaimed and flopped into the backseat. I sighed. “The seat is warm.”
“Give the man your address, sunshine,” Rhett ordered.
“You’re bossy.”
“You like it.”
“I don’t like it. I like to be the bossy one.”
“Well, when you’re sober, sugar ears, you can be the bossy one.” He pointed at the driver, and I waved at the grumpy man behind the wheel. “Give him your fucking address.”
“C’mere,” I whispered loudly, beckoning Rhett closer. When he did, I admitted, “I don’t remember my address.”
“Wallet. Now,” he replied and held out his hand. Groaning, I managed to get my hand out of my pocket with my wallet in hand. I whistled to myself as he talked to the cab driver on my behalf. When fingers snapped in my face, I blinked. “Hey, you don’t feel like you’re going to throw up, do you, smut slut?”
“Smut slut.” I giggled. “If only you knew what I read.”
“I do. You read me many excerpts around beer six as well. Do you feel like you’re going to throw up? The guy wants to know before he pulls away from the curb with your drunk ass,” Rhett said.
“You’re handsome, did you know that?” I told him instead.
“I did. I put it on all my resumes. Going to throw up?”
“No, but I want waffles with peanut butter and ice cream.”Did I have ice cream?“Oh, and chocolate chips.”
“You can have that tomorrow when you’re sober. Stay in the car, stay quiet, leave the man alone, and he’ll make sure you get home just fine,”
“Deal,” I said. “We’ll do this again.”
“You got it, Daddy Shark. Get some sleep tonight, Elliot,” Rhett ordered.Bossy man.Patting the roof of the cab, he shut the door.
Insilence, I watched the blur of lights go by as the cab driver drove. He wanted nothing to do with my drunk ass—probably couldn’t blame him.It gave me time to take my phone out of my jacket and look at the one text message I was avoiding.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Logan had texted.
LOGAN: You okay?
Oh, that was a loaded question. Not that I’d tell him that. No, we weren’t sharing things like that.
Yup.
If I was lucky, he’d be asleep.
LOGAN: You’re a shit liar, Elliot.
