I kissed the top of her head. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Adaline watched us with a little smile on her face.
This was good. No running. No anger. No freaking out.
“Ready?” I asked her.
She nodded, giving my mom and Molly hugs, promising to call the next day to coordinate getting her car back. As we walked out of the house, my hand itched to settle on her lower back.
Adaline kept her face forward, no sidelong glances, no brush of her hand against mine. When I opened the door into the garage and waited for her to go through, she let out a shaky breath.
“You okay?” I asked once we were clear of the house, the night air cool and fresh in my lungs.
Adaline didn’t answer right away, but as I opened the passenger door for her, she gave me a pleading look. “Seriously?”
“What?”
Her hand gripped the top of the door as she stared up at me. “I wish I wasn’t drunk right now,” she said.
I smiled. “Okay?”
She whimpered.
“What is it?” I asked on a laugh.
Her eyes pinched shut, and she quickly got in the car. “Nothing. Ignore me.” She tugged the door shut and sank down in the seat.
“Oh, if that were possible,” I muttered as I walked around to the driver’s side.
When I climbed behind the wheel, I winced, my legs jacked up somewhere around my chin. When I got the seat back far enough that I could fit, I felt the weight of Adaline’s gaze heavy on my face.
I turned, staring openly at her in the darkened garage. “Hi.”
She smiled, shy and sweet, turning her legs to the side so she could face me. “Hi.”
“Still in the same apartment?” I asked.
Adaline nodded. Her eyelids looked heavy. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said quietly. “I really thought I was imagining you.”
“I can’t believe you said that out loud.”
She sighed. “I have no filter when I’ve been drinking. It’s awful.”
The thing I didn’t realize until Adaline was how completely you could adore someone and still want them in a violent, visceral way. Carefully, I reached my hand out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. My fingers lightly skated the soft curve of her skin, and her whole body shivered.
“Emmett bumps,” she mumbled.
I grinned. “What did you say?”
Adaline buried her face in her hands and moaned. “Nothing. Please ignore me.” Her fingers parted so she could see me. “Can we go now? I cannot handle dying of drunk mortification in your parents’ garage.”
“Whatever my lady asks for,” I said.
Her hands dropped from her face. Even through her wine-haze, she recognized the words I’d said unthinkingly as we sat around the bonfire months earlier. Her mouth fell open in a gentle O.
There it was again—the complete dichotomy of how I felt when I was around her. I wanted to trace the line of her lips with my fingertip. And I wanted to press her back into the seat and tear at her clothes.
I wanted to gather her in my arms and do nothing more than hold her.
And I wanted to rut her into the car’s upholstery like a wild fucking beast.
Neither one would happen. Not tonight, at least. Tonight, I’d keep my hands off her while I was sober, and she most definitely wasn’t.
I backed the car out of the garage, and we lapsed into silence as I pulled us out of the driveway and headed down the street.