“Fuck it,” I mutter, reaching over her passed-out body to plug the safety belt in. “Please, please, do not puke,” I beg, glancing down to the spotless mat at her feet. “I’ll get us home as quick as I can, okay?”
She groans once more, her head lolling to the side, making me question once more if I should have laid her down.
Quickly closing the door, I race around the bonnet and drop in beside her.
With one more glance at her, I jam my finger into the start button and set off, blowing out of Sloane’s huge driveway with a spray of gravel clattering the cars behind me.
Pulling up my contacts on the screen, I find Seb and hit call.
“Yo, bro. What’s popping?”
“You’re wasted,” I point out.
“Uh… yeah. Question is, why aren’t you?”
“Seb,” I warn.
“Oh yeah, ’cos you’ve got a massive stick up your arse and are in complete denial about who you want to be grinding it up on the dancefloor with. If you—”
“I’ve got Emmie,” I blurt out, cutting off his incessant, drunken rambling.
“Wait… what? You fucking caved to her?”
“No, arsehole. Her drink was spiked. She’s passed out in my passenger seat.”
“Shit,” he hisses, suddenly sounding sober.
The loud music in the background begins to fade as I assume he moves to a quieter room.
“What do you need us to do?” I can’t help but shake my head at his immediate use of the term us.
He and Stella are sickening at times, but I couldn’t be happier that he’s found her. He deserves some joy after all the shit he’s been through.
“Nothing. I’m just going to take her home and let her sleep it off.”
“Home?” he asks curiously.
“Just let Stella and Calli know that she’s safe.”
“You think they’ll belie—”
“And find her bag and coat.”
“Fine,” he says on a sigh, “but if you hurt her or make this worse in any way, I won’t do a thing to hold Stella back.”
“Pfft, like you could anyway,” I scoff.
“Whatever, just… don’t do anything fucking stupid,” he warns.
“Sure,” I agree, pressing my thumb to the phone button on my steering wheel and cutting him off.
We’re only a few minutes from home, and only the sound of Emmie’s increased breathing fills the car.
“We’re almost there, Hellcat. You gonna be okay?”
I don’t expect a response, so when a very weak, “Yeah,” falls from her lips I damn near crash the car when I twist to look at her.
“Fuck,” I bark, righting the steering wheel before we mount the curb and kill the drunk guy who’s weaving around on the pavement.