Page 65

“I didn’t like the look of the guy you were with,” is his answer. I absorb that, and he doubles down on the statement with a shrug. “Plus, you looked…off. It was clear you were beyond drunk ‘cause you weren’t making any sense.”

I grimace. I had maybe four drinks. Not nothing, but not nearly enough to be as intoxicated as I was.

“Okay,” I reply. “And then the other guy attacked?”

He nods somberly. “We were walking to my car when that guy came from nowhere. He tried to take me on.” He shrugs again, but then his face darkens. “Then he decided to go after you, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

The drop in his tone causes a rush of…somethingto go through me. Something I refuse to focus on too closely right now.

“Thank you, Storm,” I say. “Thank you for being there.”

At this moment, I decide I’m going to trust what he’s telling me. I will live in a space where I’m grateful for Storm Sandoval and his protection during what could have been a terrible time.

And I’m going to let this—all of this—go.

“What were you doing at Velour?”

My cheeks heat. I can’t exactly tell him I was in search of someone to break my months-long dry spell.

“I was dancing. Just having fun,” I choke out.

My heart beats hard against my breastbone, and I’m surprised the monitors don’t start freaking out.

“And did you?” he asks.

“Did I what?”

“Did you have fun? I mean, before everything went to shit.”

His look is so intense, so focused on me, that I find it hard to make sense of anything happening right now.

So I evade the question.

“I appreciate the flowers. They’re beautiful,” I say, purposefully tearing my gaze away from him. I squint to determine what type they are from across the room.

“They’re chrysanthemums,” he says, his voice low. “When I saw you in that dress last night…gold looks amazing on you. And it suits you. Strong. Precious.”

I glance back at him, surprised by the weight in his tone.

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. He’s not that into you.

“And the others are freesias. They’re for resilience. For someone who can withstand anything life throws her way.”

I swallow against the thickness lodged in my throat, a mortifying tear slides down my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I rush to say, wiping at my face with a plastic smile.

“What did I say about saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ Sweetness?” He grins, but his eyes are serious, and I stutter when he wipes beneath my eye.

Ho. Ly. Shit. Flashes of the last time we were this close—the time when we descended into madness—cause my cheeks to heat.

Girlfriend.

“You have a girlfriend,” I blurt out. “I…this is confusing.” I move away from him—well, as far away from him as I can while stuck in a hospital bed.

His brows come down.

“No, I don’t.”