Page 28 of Villainous Summer

If she were sober, it would have sounded like a threat, but its slurred nature zapped its power.

Hoisting her up, I wrapped an arm around her waist again. “Alright, tough guy, let’s get you home.”

At her apartment, I had to fish her keys out of her small purse, then open the door with one hand while holding her up with the other.

Inside was sparsely furnished, boxes lining the walls beside a small couch.

Summer stepped out of my hold and stumbled to the bathroom, where she retched beyond the wide-open door.

When I came in behind her, I gathered her hair in my fist as she vomited bright red liquid in the toilet.

As far as first dates went, this wasn’t in my top five best but not in my worst, either.

She sat back on her haunches. Her eyes closed, she wiped her mouth. “This has to be one of the most embarrassing days of my life.”

“I’ve seen worse,” I joked, allowing her the space to stand at the counter.

Rinsing her mouth, she blinked at her reflection and grimaced. “I look like absolute flaming garbage dipped in dog shit.”

“Again, I’ve seen worse.”

“You’re supposed to say that.”

“Saying I’ve seen worse is hardly a compliment.”

Straightening, she ran a hand over her face. “I need to shower.”

“Oh, I’ll just—”

Before I could step out, she turned away and pulled her dress straps down.

When the dress pooled at her feet, she kicked it to the corner, stumbled to the shower, and turned the water on.

She was drunk—very, very drunk—and I shouldn’t have been standing there, gawking at her like I was thirteen. I had seen naked women. So many naked women. And it was her back and her underwear. Not even a thong or something sexy but regular women’s briefs.

“Sorry, I’ll um—”

She glanced at me. “Okay.”

I stalked into the small living room when the shower door clanged shut.

Remembering I had promised her a pretzel on the way back, I grabbed her keys and left.

For the entire walk to and from downtown, my mind raced. The afternoon had gone completely off the rails. And while it was not how I had planned it, I didn’t mind it. Summer was fire, and I found myself, even in her battered state, drawn to it. She was a complex woman, and while another man wouldn’t want that level of complication, it only intrigued me more.

I texted Devin that she was home safe and immediately received a heart-eye cat emoji. Whatever that meant.

Back at the apartment, I set the wax paper-wrapped pretzel on the counter.

She was dressed in an oversized T-shirt and tucked under her bedspread. Her room was as sparsely decorated as the living room, with a double picture frame on her nightstand.

On one side was a photo of her with an older man with the same light-blue eyes, and the other was of three women, one of which was Devin.

“I left you a snack,” I whispered.

“Van.” She held out her hand, and I took it. Her fingers slid across my palm. Warmth crept up my arm. “I am sorry about today. Please, don’t hate me.”

“I could never.”

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