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“Whatever,” I mutter as the guy next to me pulls my attention. I’ve never had trouble making friends. I can walk into any room and make myself the center of attention.

I love it and I fucking hate it, because until Jordan walked through those doors, I was fine. I was fine drinking and laughing and yelling with strangers, my ego eating it up. But with him here, I don’t want their attention anymore .

All I want is his.

I want him to look at me, to pull up a seat next to me and just be near me.

He sits on the other side of the bar, ignoring me.

When the bartender comes back, asking for my order, I lean close to her.

“You see Hulk in the red flannel over there?”

The bitchy bartender licks her lips. “Uh huh.”

“Whatever he wants, put it on my tab.” She steps away, rolling her eyes, but I stop her. “Make sure you tell him it’s me. Be obvious about it.”

She sighs. “Fucking weirdo.”

I laugh, taking a sip of my drink as I watch her head over to him. He looks at me, glaring.

It makes me smile and I raise my drink, taking a long pull.

When the game is finally over and people start to leave, and I’ve paid my bill, I stand from my chair and nearly fall over. My knee buckles, and the alcohol hits me like a fucking punch to the face.

Shit.

There is no way I can drive like this, which means I’m going to have to call for a ride. I’m fairly certain Mack already left, since I haven’t seen him and it’s still pretty crowded.

I lean against the bar, my finger hovering over Britt’s number. It rings and goes to voicemail, and I remember it’s a school night. She’s probably sleeping, so I hang up.

“Fuck,” I curse, knowing I only have one other option. My mother.

She picks up after one ring. “Alexander, where are you?”

“Bella’s,” I say. “I, uh… need you to come get me.”

The judgment and disdain in her voice is clear as a bell.

“You’re drunk.”

I flinch at her words, but she’s not wrong. I felt fine—before I stood up, that is.

I’ve been worse than this, this is nothing…

Vance usually gets me so fucking shitfaced I black out.

“I’m being a responsib… responsble. Re-spon-saa-ble.” I try to say the words, but they are not helping my case one bit. ”Adult.”

“I can’t believe you,” she hisses. “Just when I think you’re going to grow up and be a man, you pull a stunt like this.”

“Are you coming to get me or not? Because we can have a fucking therapy session in mah… car, but I’m tired and my leg hurts and I can’t fucking drive.”

“No,” she says bitterly. “You know the rules, Alex.”

“Mom—what do you want me to do?” I ask, and I hate the way my voice cracks. I can’t help but feel like if Austen did something like this, she’d be half-way here already.

“You got yourself into this situation, you can find a way out. And you know what? Don’t bother coming back here until you can clean your act up and be a damn adult.”

“Fuck!” I bite as I throw the phone on the counter. Tears threaten to fall, but I shove them back. Crying when I’m drunk never ends well.

Great, now not only am I stranded, I don’t have anywhere to go. I guess my only option is to call an Uber and go home—to my house, but I’ll still have to find someone to help me through my damn recovery—

“Hey,” a deep voice penetrates my momentary freak out.

I turn, meeting familiar honey eyes that stare back at me with uncharacteristic softness.

Pity.

“What do you want?” I snap. “Come to rub salt in my wounds?”

“You need a place to crash?” he asks, his voice low and deep. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“No,” I lie.

“Bullshit, Alex,” he says. “I heard you.”

“I don’t need sh–shit.” I feel like I’m losing my sanity minute by minute.

But I do need shit .

I need you.

“Come on,” he motions for me to follow him. I can’t move my fucking legs. I’m worried if I try, I’ll fall.

“I c-can’t,” I say, flashing my gaze to the floor. “Just go, Jordan. I’ll be fine.”

Please don’t leave me.

“Why do you have to argue with me all the damn time?” he grumbles, and then he grabs me. One hand slides around my waist and he pulls me against him.

The motion brings me close enough I can smell his spicy alpine and vetiver scent and stupidly I breathe him in like he’s my fucking oxygen. Maybe he is.

“Because I’m difficult ,” I whine.

Mack grunts out, “You ain’t fucking kidding.”

I lean on him and find it’s a little easier to walk, but it still hurts like a bitch.

The cold air hits me as the tears fester. My brain feels muddled, not understanding how to respond.

On one hand, his gravelly, deep commanding voice is scratching my brain the right way, but I also know he’s just being a decent human being.

It has nothing to do with me. He doesn’t want me. He’s got a girlfriend, for God’s sakes. Hell, he doesn’t even want me around, and it’s his job to fix me.

“Where’s my car?” I ask as he settles me against the side of a white truck that’s seen better days.

“We’ll get it in the morning. ”

He shifts me, and I lean against the side, noticing his hands on my hips. They don’t move, either, and for a moment we both stand there. I look up at him and everything is confusing.

His lips part just the slightest and his dark eyes fall to my mouth. Time seems to stand still, and without thinking, I lean into his space, my own lips parting in response. He turns away, letting out a shaky breath.

“Get in the fucking car, Alex,” he says, sounding more tired than ever. He throws open the door, then hoists me in like I weigh five pounds. My feet crash against empty cups and cans and the door shuts with a loud thud. A second later, the car sputters and he curses, hitting the steering wheel.

“Fuck, girl, don’t do this to me now,” he whispers.

I laugh. “Performance issues?”He whips his head in my direction, glaring at me. “Don’t recall any. Do you?”

His response is so not him that it throws me off, and I’m speechless.

He mutters something to himself as he turns over the ignition again, but all it does is sputter.

“Do you—”

“Shut the fuck up, Alex,” he growls.

“Make me,” I whisper, but I don’t think he hears it because the engine finally turns over. I let the rumble of the engine lull me into peace as the sounds of Matchbox Twenty’s “Push” fill the air .

I sing, because I love the song, almost forgetting that I’m not alone. Usually I only sing karaoke in my own car, but I let my guard down and my voice elevates as I sing out the chorus. Mack chuckles and I smile.

“Don’t quit your day job, Alex.” There’s humor in his voice among the gravel.

“I love this song,” I say like an idiot.

There’s a pause before he says, “It’s a good song.”

“The best one.” The guitars pick up and Rob Thomas croons on about taking things for granted.

I swear, for the briefest moment, I hear Mack sing those memorable lines about wanting to push the other person around.

I lose myself in the lyrics, in his soft, deep, near-whisper singing until the song ends, hoping that when I open my eyes, Jordan’s still here.

He is. The moonlight shines through the window of his car, lighting up his face. His honey eyes glisten with something I can’t pinpoint, but whatever it is, it makes my heart beat a little faster.

That’s when I notice the car has stopped running.

For just the briefest moment, he looks at me and it’s like no time has passed at all, even though too many years have.

The moment disappears as he breaks my gaze and gets out of the car, leaving me breathless with a heavy heartbeat and a twitching cock .

I adjust myself, knowing he can’t see me, and let out a shaky breath.

It’s just one night, right? I can handle one night with a friend.

That’s the lie I tell myself when he opens my door, when he stares up at me with those perfect amber eyes like he can see through me.

Like he sees me.

He says nothing as he helps me out, just places his hands on my hips, warming me to the bone.

I shift my weight and nearly stumble out of the truck like a complete dumbass, not at all because I’m drunk, but I’m sure that’s not helping.

“Fuck,” I hiss as he catches me.

“I got you,” he says, but his breath is husky, his voice deep. “You’re okay.”

Looking up into his eyes, I think he’s wrong.

I’m not okay.

I’m well and truly fucked.