Page 104 of Sugar

“Because you’re not going to your apartment. You’re coming home with me.”

Her response was barely above a whisper. “Why?”

That was a good question. Bringing her into my personal space was yet another in the long list of ways I was torturing myself with what I couldn’t have.

I was doing it anyway.

I gave her a half-truth. “Because I want to make sure you aren’t going to break a leg drunkenly stumbling to the bathroom every hour.”

“I’m not drunk.”

I tore my eyes from the road to raise a brow at her.

“Okay, I’m still pretty tipsy, but I’m not drunk. I switched to water a while ago.”

That was also true. She would’ve likely been safe at her apartment.

I still wasn’t changing my mind.

She looked ready to argue some more, but a quick glance at me was enough to cut that off. “Okay, I’ll do it if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” I said dryly.

“But I have a stipulation,” she rushed to tack on.

“Yes?”

“I gettwoof my coffees tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

“Yes,” she whispered with a little fist pump.

Fuck, she’s cute.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for the name of the coffee shop,” I said.

She inhaled so sharply, I thought she would choke. She smothered it quickly as she drummed her fingers. After a few beats of strained casualness, I could feel her eyes on me. “After careful consideration, I would like to revise my terms.”

“Too late.”

“Dammit.”

She spent the rest of the drive giving me her rundown of Wren’s new boyfriend and Greer’s ex. I didn’t give a shit about either beyond the fact it was important to Maddie. Which meant it was important to me.

The creative—and slightly alarming—vengeance ideas she came up with for Josh tapered off as we approached the main entrance of my neighborhood. I flicked a wave at the guard as the gate moved out of the way and continued to my house.

“Whoa,” Maddie said when she climbed out of my SUV. Her awe seemed to diminish when we stepped into the entryway, and she scanned around us.

“What’re you thinking, guppy?” I pushed, caring about the answer more than I would’ve if she were anyone else.

“That I’m sorry for not realizing you were allergic to color.” She winced. “Oof, sorry that was rude. Ignore me.”

I wasn’t insulted because she wasn’t wrong. Every wall in the place was white or beige. The filler decor—pictures, decorative pots, and assorted other bullshit—carried the same color scheme with some additional black.

It was boring as fuck.

It also wasn’t my doing.

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