Page 86 of Role Play
“Isaid, I got her.” Ash’s voice was deep, rich, and I sighed as I felt his arm snake around my waist. “I’ll take herhome.”
“Lucy?” Miguel said my name, stepping in front of me. Through my heavy-lidded gaze, I smiled at him. “Areyouokay with Ash takingyou?”
The bottom line was Ash wouldn’t go quietly into the night. Even if I said no, I had no doubt he would follow behind my Uber until I was home. “It’s fine, Miguel,” I said, and blinked up atAsh.
“Okay,” Miguel said hesitantly. “You have my number. I want you to text me when you get home safely,okay?”
I nodded, but even as he asked me, I could feel the thoughts slippingaway.
Then Miguel’s eyes cut to Ash once more as he added, “Make it a voice text so that I know it’s actuallyyou.”
Ash gave him a genuine smile. “You’re a good man,Miguel.”
Miguel snorted. “Sure. You say that now that you know I’m gay. If you thought I was straight and hitting on her though, you’d probably be threatening to break mynose.”
Ash’s jaw twitched and his palm squeezed my hip. “Maybe. And I’msorry.”
Miguel snorted, shaking his head. “You two should be more careful in the future. I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but if I figured it out in a matter of a few hours, then others might,too.”
From over top of his phone, I saw him open up the rideshare app and he gave me a final pointed look. “You’resure?”
I nodded tightly. What was I going to do? Make him take me back to his apartment in Long Beach? And if I was being honest, in this drunken state, I sort of wanted Ash to take mehome.
“See you both Monday, then.” Then with a final point in my direction, Miguel reminded me, “Voice text. When you gethome.”
He exited the bar and all that was left were five women still belting their little hearts out in karaoke and a few stragglers on the dancefloor.
Ash helped me over to our table and sat me down with two full glasses of water in front of us. He dipped a napkin in one and slid the other toward me. “Drink,” he said, holding up the straw. I wrapped my lips around the cylinder of plastic and drank in the cool water. It felt good in my dry mouth. Ash took the saturated napkin and brushed it across my damp forehead. “Close your eyes,” he said, then gently ran the cloth across my eyes, wiping away whatever was left of the makeup Miguel had painted me with. My contacts were dry and itchy and I pressed the heels of my palm againstthem.
“Don’t rub your eyes,” he said. Then asked, “Do you have your eyeglasses withyou?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “They’re in my car. And I’m never wearing my stupid contacts again until my weddingday.”
The washcloth froze at the bridge of my nose, then resumed moments later, gliding across my sweaty skin. “Why wouldn’t you wear your glasses on your wedding day?” he asked as he dipped the napkin in the ice wateragain.
“Because,” I sighed. “Girls want to be pretty princesses on their wedding day. Haveyouever seen a four-eyedprincess?”
He smiled and brushed the napkin over my cheeks and down my neck. “I’m looking atone.”
I snorted, but smiled in spite of myself. Damn him for making me feel so warm and fuzzyinside.
“Feel better?” he asked quietly, drifting the napkin to the back of my neck where my hair was matted andsweaty.
“Mm,” I answered, not trusting myself to form words justyet.
What did this mean? He’d said he was sorry, but honestly, that wasn’t enough. He’d warned me… he didn’t do relationships. I didn’t believe it was because he didn’t want to, but because hecouldn’t. And the relationships he did have were out of my league. Way out of my league, I thought as I brushed my thumb over the puncture wound from the safety pin that was almost healedalready.
I swallowed hard, drinking more from my water glass and the straw slurped up the small amount left at thebottom.
“Good girl, Shorty” hesaid.
“Don’t say that,” I snapped and set the water down. He was being so nice. And it was pissing me off. “Can I just get a stupid Uber home? You obviously have some weird vendetta against myapartment—”
“I’m taking youhome.”
“Oh?” I challenged, lifting my eyebrow athim.
“Yes.” He nodded and stood, holding a hand out to help me up. “And it’s not a vendetta… it’s amemory.”
