lot. Thankfully, at two in the morning on a Sunday night, the only people awake on the streets are homeless or completely hammered—or both. But I think my waving and smiling to everyone we paraded past sort of lessened their suspicion that anything nefarious was taking place.
Now, we are in the car. I start it, June jumps out and I have to sprint after her to get her back in the passenger seat, and when we are once again situated, I buckle her up and hit the child locks. I choose not to worry about how much this truly looks like abduction now. But I’m doing it for her own good. Wait, do psychopaths say that, too?
I look over at three-sheets-to-the-wind June and wonder if she always drinks this much. But somehow, I know the answer is no (probably because she was already tipsy halfway through her first one). I think I’m the reason for her over-indulgence tonight, and I want to find out why.
She’s docile now. A tiger shot with a tranquilizer and about to pass out against the window. I need to find out her address before she’s so far gone that I have to bring her back to my hotel room, because ‘guy carrying an unconscious girl into a hotel room at 2 AM’ is really not a look I care to add to my repertoire.
June leans her head against the glass, balls her hand up under her chin, and lets out a whimper. It’s a pitiful sound. My jacket is still around her shoulders, swallowing her whole. Her mascara is a little smudged under her eyes, and there is only the faintest tint of red on her lips now. She looks like she’s gone through the wringer, and I doubt that this is the look she intended to portray tonight when she was getting in my face with how successful she is. Still, I like that I get to be the one to take care of her like this—also that I’m the one to make her come a little undone.
I’ve been doing nothing but running through the paces of my life these past twelve years. I go from achievement to achievement, turning over stones and trying to find something under them. I don’t know what that something is yet because I’ve never found it. I just keep moving to the next stone.
But seeing June again tonight—sensing that spark ignite between us again—it has me pausing. It feels like my heart is trying to kick back to life. And I know she’s aware of it, too. Evidence being that she has drunk herself into oblivion just trying to keep busy and avoid making eye contact with me all night.
Yeah, but I saw you stealing glances at me, June.
Something is there. I feel it. I just need to play her game and peel back the layers of her hate to find it.
When I ask for June’s address, she mumbles a few incoherent words and swats her hand in my direction like she’s trying to get me to shut up so she can sleep. I give up and let her pass out. Reaching into her purse, I pull out her phone and open the maps app. Luckily, she has her address saved under home, and I start the directions.
Ten minutes later, I’m pulling up in front of a small white bungalow. I cut the engine and walk around the car to help June out. She stumbles a bit, her legs moving more like spaghetti noodles than functioning limbs, so I pick her up and carry her to her front door. I pause outside the bright, teal-colored front door and realize I have no idea if she lives with anyone or not.
Surely, if she had a boyfriend, he would have come with her tonight? And I know she’s not married, because you better believe the first thing I did when I saw her again was assess her ring finger. Well, it was almost the first thing I assessed on her.
I could kick the door to see if someone answers, but I’ve always enjoyed being a risk taker, so I’ll take my chances. I set June on the ground beside the door. Her head rolls back to rest against the siding while I scoop up her clutch and start digging through it. Annnnnd I’ve sailed right past gallant knight and pushed straight into creepy guy, because I take my time, making a mental note of the contents I stumble over. There’s