Page 26 of After All This Time

"What? It's nice," I mutter, knowing full well how weak that sounds.

I turn to face her, and sure enough, she's staring straight back at me, with an eyebrow raised just enough to tell me that she knows I'm talking out of my ass.

"Shall I just drive us home?" I throw it out there, hoping she'll let this whole idea die before it even begins.

"Why would we do that?"

I let out a breath, head falling back against the seat. "Come on. Just let me help you find something else. Somewhere else."

"You're being a snob." She throws the accusation at me so easily that it actually stings a little.

"First of all, you know me better than that," I snap as I sit up straighter, my grip tightening on the wheel. "And second, this has nothing to do with me being a snob and everything to do with my twenty-two-year-old stepsister working in a place that will probably require you to carry some kind of weapon just to feel safe."

She snickers, shaking her head as if I'm the one losing my damn mind. "I think you're being a little dramatic."

"And I think you're being a little naïve," I fire back.

"Okay, Tobias, tell me how many women you've picked up in bars and taken home without even knowing their last names." She arches a brow, and I already don't like where this conversation is going.

"How is that relevant?"

"Just humor me."

I run a hand across my jaw, the tension settling in my neck as I twist it. "I don't know. A few."

I should shut up. I know I should shut up.

"So you have done it." I nod, and I can feel myself stepping straight into her trap. She's making me feel like an ass, and the infuriating part is she's enjoying every second of it. "Did any of those encounters lead to someone needing aweapon?"

I look at her dryly, her sarcasm getting on my last fucking nerve. "What the hell, Mills?"

"Stop being a hypocrite."

I sigh heavily, rubbing my temples because this girl can really stress me the fuck out sometimes. "Fine," I grumble. "Let's go. Prove me wrong."

"You're not coming in with me."

"The hell I'm not. I'm not letting you walk in there alone."

"You can either wait here or go, and I'll find my own way back." I open my mouth to argue, but there's no point fighting her. She's as stubborn as I am, if not worse.

"Fine, I'll be here when you're done."

She steps out of the car, and I watch her go, the neon sign casting a green glow over her figure as she disappears inside. I tell myself that I need to let her breathe. I'm not the controlling type—not even close. I believe people should be free to do and be whatever they want, live their lives, and make their own choices. But when it comes to her safety? That's when the line gets drawn, and if I have to step in, I will.

I sit back in my seat and pull out my phone, sighing as I resign myself to wasting time while she does whatever she needs to do in there.

I spend the next thirty minutes of my life scrolling through reels. Thirty minutes of my life I'll never get back, but sometimes a little mind-numbing distraction is necessary, and what better way than watching cats do stupid shit or seeing people fall over in the most spectacular way?

A flash of light catches my eye, pulling me out of my phone-induced haze. I glance up and see Amelia walking out of the bar with a tall blond guy at her side. Even from here, I can see that he's practically my polar opposite. He's clean-cut, like a nineties-era Jensen Ackles. He's smiling down at her like he's ready to whisk her off to some overpriced downtown restaurant where salads cost forty bucks and come with more garnish than actual food before taking her back to his meticulously clean apartment, where he'll show her the most vanilla night of her life.

I'm being a judgmental asshole.

Fuck me, I bet he's a great guy—probably rescues stray kittens in his spare time or helps old ladies across the street in between fixing his bike.

I sit up, watching as she takes a few steps ahead before turning back around to face him. This must be the guy she's been talking about; however, he doesn't look like he belongs here any more than she does. I glance at him, then at myself—boots worn in, jeans a little frayed, and a jacket that's probably seen better days—but it's obvious that I blend in here more than the two of them combined.

My eyes stay glued to them as she reaches up onto her tiptoes, and he casually wraps an arm around her, pulling her in for a hug. Although it seems innocent, the way she effortlessly leans into him, as if it were a natural instinct, makes my jaw tighten.

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