“Thanks.” Alana runs her hand down my back, and now I'm the one going limp. Her touch sprints over my limbs like a runner in the midst of a thirty-yard dash. My arms tense so tightly around Emily, I fear I’m going to crush her; it’s easy to forget how small and lightweight she is when her personality makes her seem like a giant.
Once we get out to Alana's car, I not so artfully slip Emily into the backseat. I lay her down on her side and push the front seat back into position. Poor thing looks like a twisted-up ragdoll. Then Alana closes the door. I don’t know if she’s still pissed at me or not, but I slide my arms around her waist and hug her. She snakes her hands around my neck and hugs me back with such force it catches me off guard.
“I'm sorry I upset you.” The words fly out in one great rush.
“When did you upset me?”
“When I declared you spoken for.” I squeeze her tighter. “I’m not sorry I said it, and I won’t take it back.”
“I didn’t get mad,” she confesses. “I liked it,” she admits, pressing her face into the nape of my neck like she’s embarrassed of her admission.
Say what?
My mouth can't respond, but my heart is suddenly pumping double-time in my chest.
“You’re pretty badass,” Alana comments.
“Not really.”
“I heard you punch him.”
I shrug. “I’ve dealt with idiots my whole life. I’ve never taken one down that easily before though.”
“Like I said, badass.”
“Sean’s the badass,” I contest. “I was just defending Emily.”
“I’m grateful.” Alana goes to kiss me, but our private moment is interrupted.
“Pierce!” Spiro is standing by the front door. “Play lover boy later!”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“It's okay, go. I want to get Emily home anyway. Although I have no idea how I’m going to get her out of the car.”
“There isn’t anyone home to help you?”
“No, my aunt and uncle are away. It’s just us in the house.”
I glance into the backseat, then at Alana. “Crap. Okay, hang on. I’ll be right back out.” I swiftly kiss her lips then take off into the club. I squeeze through the crowd looking for Spiro. I find him at the bar gabbing with Mac like the two little girls they are.
“Yo, is it cool if Mac handles my close out?” I ask Spiro.
He huffs. “Ask him.” I look at Mac, and he shrugs. “Sure, bro. But if my drawer is short, I’m taking it out of your tips.”
“Whatever.” I know he’s full of shit.
Spiro shakes his head. “You’re whipped on that one, huh?”
I shoot him a cold stare.
“I don't know how you can be whipped on something you're not even getting,” Mac chimes in annoyingly.
Spiro looks at me surprised. “Really, bro, nada?”
I roll my eyes. “We're casual.”
God, I hate that fucking word.