Page 63 of Heat & Deceit
“She’s in my head, gotta have her in my bed—”
The song switches on again, and his voice blends seamlessly with it. I narrow my eyes and bite my cheek, forcing myself to focus completely on driving and not the alpha whose voice is going to haunt me for the rest of the night.
Seventeen
LY
I’m drunker than I should be. I knew that last shot was going to mess me up, but that omega was being so pushy, and I hadn’t wanted to make a scene. The thought is almost laughable now, considering she threw water in my face. Carmine’s arrival was divine intervention, and no one can tell me anything different.
That omega was already planning her first heat with my pack. She pulled up a goddamn list on her phone and read through the criteria while she ordered shots, demanding I match her drink for drink. It wasn’t a problem until we were five deep and she asked me to take her home to meet the guys.
That wasn’t going to happen.
We hadn’t even had a conversation. It was a simple business transaction to her, and that was almost worse than being rejected by a real date. She wasn’t there to get to know me. She only wanted what I could offer. I admit, it was a dick move to cling to Carmine for an excuse to get out of the date. Even though it worked, I shouldn’t have used her like that.
Leaning forward, I turn down the music. “Sorry for using.”
“What?”
“Using. Sorry for it.”
She checks the mirrors and wrenches the car to the curb, going a fascinating sixteen miles per hour before slamming on the breaks.
I chuckle at the theatrics. “Slow down, turbo.”
“Shut up,” she snaps, grabbing my arm and shoving up my sleeve. “What did you take?” Her gaze roves over my skin, and her fingers brush over the nook of my arm, gently probing. “Lycus.” Her hazel-gray eyes lift to meet mine. A strong line forms above her eyebrows. “What did you take?”
“Take?”
She exhales and rests her palm on my forehead, feeling for a temperature. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “You can tell me.”
“What? What do I need to tell you?”
“You said you were using.” She begins to move her hand from my face, but I grab her wrist and hold it hostage. She scowls.
“You’re warm.” I lean into her touch. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re perfect?”
“Was it ecstasy?”
“No. Tracers Track,” I mumble. “Seven shots.”
“Whiskey.” She blows out a hard breath. “So, you’re not using?”
“What? No. I said sorry for using you,” I say with a funny smile. That’s what I’d said, isn’t it? “Are you drunk too? Should I call a car?”
“I don’t drink,” she growls, ripping her hand back. Her sudden shift from concern to anger jars me.
“I can call a car,” I say quickly. “You don’t have to drive me.”
“It’s fine.” She pulls back into traffic.
“Are you mad at me?” Why do I sound so sad about that?
Carmine’s lips press together before she sighs and glances at me. “I’m not mad at you. I misheard you and got worried.”
“Do I look like I do drugs?”
She scoffs. “Do I?”
