Page 105 of From Nowhere

“It doesn’t feel fair to love you,” he says.

Given the wine I’ve had tonight, sweeping me off my feet should be easy, but that’s not the right line. It doesn’t feel fair to whom? Him? Me? Brynn? The universe?

“Whoa.” I laugh. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Ilovedyou for fetching me toilet paper and a pad the day we met. Ilovethese shoes.” I kick a foot back. “Ilovea good bottle of merlot. But merlot isn’t jealous of my shoes.” I hold up my hands and pull away from his hold on me. “Don’t read into anything.Please.” I brush pasthim toward my RAV. I sigh when I get there and grab the door handle to the driver’s side. “I’m not driving home,” I mumble.

My declaration of love has ruined the moment. This is supposed to be my subtle exit. But I need a driver, and it won’t be him.

“Are we not getting into the back seat?” he asks, standing behind me.

I close my eyes and blow out a long breath. “I said the wrong thing because I’m not completely sober. Now I feel agitated that my thoughts are jumbled, and you’re thinking that I meant something that I didn’t, and—”

“Maren.”

“It’s late anyway. You should head home—”

“Maren.”

“Because it’s getting late. And—”

“Maren!”

I startle and turn toward him, arms crossed over my chest. “What?”

“I said it didn’t feel fair to love you. I didn’t say that I don’t love you.”

Goddammit!

I’m not drunk enough—not numb enough.

Ozzy grins, brushing his knuckles along my cheek before tucking my hair behind my ear. “I didn’t say it first, but I fell first.”

Leaning into his touch, I whisper, “I didn’t think you were going to sweep me off my feet tonight.” I giggle because my mind is still swimming in merlot. “I was wrong.”

Before I open my eyes, he kisses me.

Maybe it’s not fair for him to love me. But nothing about my life has been fair.

So we climb into the back seat.

Love doesn’t need anything more than a chance.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ozzy

“Nice of you to find time for lil old me,” my best friend, Diego, says, wiping his greasy hands on a rag as I park my bike just inside the detached garage he uses as a shop.

“You know where I live,” I say, ogling the red Mustang on his lift.

“Where’s your sidekick? Kai has been asking about her.” Diego stuffs part of the rag into the back pocket of his sagging black cargo pants before adjusting the yellow bandanna tied around his head of messy black hair.

“Lola’s at my mom’s house. She’s been spending more time there. I’m on my way to get her.” I run my hand along the newly painted bumper.

“Driving yet?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I wish.”

“I’m sure you do.” He opens his garage fridge and offers me a beer, popping the top as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m drinking.

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