Page 19 of Changing Lanes

My heart starts racing.

“Are you talking about my roommate? She lives here. I was looking at her because I thought she was having a seizure in there.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, glaring when I see Marc kicked back, grinning like a fucking douche. I flip him the bird and his lips spread even wider.

Carlson pushes past me, storming out the front door and I let her go before dropping to the couch, ignoring the triumphant grin my best friend aims my way. Dude’s a regular comedian all of a sudden.

* * *

My eyes snap open to a pitch black room and a crick in my neck. Looking around, I realize I fell asleep on the couch. A couch made for a normal person, not someone my size. At 6’6”, most furniture is too small for me which is why I usually only sleep in my bed since it’s the only thing that fits my tall ass. I must’ve passed out sometime during the night. I vaguely remember watching the front door before sleep took over.

Probably to make sure that snake in the grass didn’t come back to bite me in the…anything.

A giggle followed by a thump out in the hallway has me up and across the room in a flash. Peering through the peephole, I see Paige slumped over some bulky dude and I rip the door open without hesitation.

My chest puffs as I step forward, my voice like ice, gaze just as hard. “What the fuck is this?”

Paige’s head jerks immediately.

“Uh, oh. Fee-fi-fo-fum, looks like I poked the beast.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” I shake my head, thinking about our old neighbor who would mix up her fairy tales sometimes. No need to memorize them when you’re living them—the Grimms’ versions.

Paige’s words come out slurred though and her lids are heavy, red lines distorting her green eyes.

“You’re drunk?”

“Yep.” She pops the p, bringing my gaze to her lips. They’re swollen. From use.

I go to flip my hat but, remembering I’m not wearing one since it’s the middle of the night and all, I rub my jaw instead.

“And what? You thought you’d bring home an easy layup?”

“I don’t play ball, I break them.” She laughs like she’s proud of herself for coming up with such a good quip.

“That doesn’t make sense either.” Denied.

Underneath her leather jacket, her loose shirt’s riding up the more gravity tries to claim her and thanks to her helper’s hold on her, a nice little slice of skin peeks out, robbing almost all of my thoughts.

I finally tear my eyes away, pinning the loser attempting to hold her up with a glare so chilling I’m surprised he doesn’t shiver. This motherfucker is wider than me, sure, but in a smokestack kind of way. Smokestacks fall, they break, they crumble to pieces given the right amount of pressure. And they probably cry like a little bitch while doing it.

Anticipation hangs in the air like smoke itself.

Paige sobers a bit, looking at the guy like she’s just realizing he’s there.

Jesus Christ.

“Where’s my bike?” she demands and I’d laugh if I wasn’t wondering the same thing myself.

Dude throws his hands up, the hands he was using to hold Paige up with, and I reach out to catch her before she replaces our welcome mat.

She groans from the transition but doesn’t say anything, waiting for an answer.

“It’s still at the bar. After we, uh-”

Dude glances at me and I swear to God I want to shove my fist down his throat just so I don’t have to hear his next words.

“After we, you know,” he says, beating around the bush—a bush I’m about to beat the shit out of myself, “you asked me to take you home. You were poured more than you should’ve been, so I drove you here myself.”

I narrow my eyes, wondering what the hell ‘you know’ means, at the same time never wanting to find out.