for feeding her best friend drinks all night.
“Oh my God! I love this song!” Emmalyn shrieks, waving her arms over her head.
Stella sends a glacial glare my way. “What are you playing at?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“She. Doesn’t. Drink,” Stella grits through clenched teeth.
“It’s fine. She’s fine.”
“I swear, if you let anything—”
Before she can finish her threat, my drunk little mouse stumbles between us, draping herself across my chest. “Dance with me? Please? Let’s dance, Sterling!”
I raise my brows at Stella before clasping Emmalyn’s hand in mine.
“Show me your moves.”
Without even a glance back at her friend, she pulls me out onto the makeshift dance floor, moving with zero inhibitions.
I keep a hand on her hip as she shimmies and rolls her body against mine. She may not cheer anymore, but her body definitely remembers.
It’s a little amusing, watching her dance all on her own, until she starts grinding against my dick like a bitch in heat. Suddenly, my logical reason is being replaced with lust.
I can feel my jeans growing tighter as she pops and locks and pretty much uses me as her personal pole.
Fuuuuuck.
I know I mixed her drinks with the intention of loosening her up, but I meant her lips, not her legs.
“You feel so good,” she singsongs, grabbing my free hand and placing it on her belly. “So strong and big.”
The temptation to sample what she’s offering is strong. Really fucking strong.
But, I won’t.
Drunk girls never amount to much in the sack, and the thought of taking physical advantage of her leaves me with a sick taste in the back of my throat.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do!” She stomps her foot and then stumbles into me. “I-I don’t feel so good.”
“Are you okay? What do you need?”
Her eyes are wide with panic, and her cheeks are no longer glowing, but pale. “I-I don’t know. I feel dizzying.”
“Dizzying, huh?”
“Everything’s spinning. Make it stop.” A sliver of regret tugs at my heart as a lone tear rolls her down her cheek. “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“My place.”
“What? Why?”
“You need someone to look after you, Emmalyn.”
“And you’re-you are going to?” She hiccups. “Do that?”
“I am.”
She mumbles an unintelligible reply and leans farther into me. I loop an arm around her waist for support and walk us toward the exit. She comes without a fight and, by some miracle, we make it to my Jag without any trouble.
Now we just need to make it back to my place without her defiling the leather of my car.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sterling
“Give me your phone.”
Emmalyn groans and rests her head against the passenger window.
“Come on, hand it over.”
“Hand what?” she mumbles, her breath fogging the glass.
“Your phone.” I’m already over her drunken bullshit, which is unfortunate, since I only have myself to blame.
“Your voice is kind of yummy.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Be that as it may, I still need your phone.”
“Get it then.” She flops toward the door, just barely lifting her ass from the seat. “In my pocket.”
Not exactly how I imagined the next time I’d grab her ass...
I lean over the console and retrieve her phone from her back pocket, taking care not to let my hand linger. “Passcode? No, forget it. Give me your hand.”
She plops back down and rolls her head my way, flinging her arm into my lap.
“You’re a sloppy drunk, Emmalyn.”
“Am not!”
“Are, too. You went from tipsy to shitfaced in the blink of an eye.”
“Whatever.”
I press her thumb over the sensor on her screen, unlocking it. I pull up her text thread with her roommate and fire off a quick message.
Me: It’s Sterling. Emmalyn’s shitfaced. I’m taking her home with me.
Much to my surprise, she texts back instantly.
Stella: Hurt her and die.
Me: She’s in good hands.
Stella: To be determined.
By the time I close out of the thread, Emmalyn is fast asleep. Temptation sits on my chest, my fingers itching to snoop.
It’s not like she’ll ever know...
I tap out of the thread with Stella and scroll through all of her messages.
Stella
Sterling
Mommy Dearest
Gabe
Zach
Five. She has a grand total of five text threads. It’s... fuck. It’s pathetic, really. However, that doesn’t stop me from reading through them all.
The texts between Emmalyn and her friends hold little to no useful information, but her thread with her mother is enlightening, to say the least.
I always knew Sarah Pearson was a piece of work, but the way she speaks to her daughter leaves a hell of a bad taste in my mouth. And there’s literally been