“We should, uh, get going.” Jake felt Char’s hand press against his chest, he looked down into her pleading eyes and stepped back, but only by an inch. He didn’t want to be the one to back down first.
“You’re right.” Jace shook his head and managed to look as humble as shit. The jackass. “Shall we?” He grabbed Char’s bag and offered his arm.
Why hadn’t Jake thought to carry her bag?
Oh, right; because he was still wasted from last night and had spent the better part of the flight trying to keep all bodily fluids inside. It hadn’t occurred to him, just like it hadn’t occurred to him to stop being an ass before he put his foot in his mouth or allowed his heart to get engaged with hers.
With a curse, he followed them outside.
To the waiting limo.
Of course.
“So the family sent the limo?” Jake asked nonchalantly as he handed his bag to the driver.
“Nah.” Jace shrugged. “I thought Char might be tired so I called in a favor.”
So he was poor. That Jake could work with.
“A favor?” Char asked, taking Jace’s hand as he helped her into the backseat.
“Yeah.” Jace held the door open and let Jake go in first. “I normally don’t use the limos or cars but I decided just this once it would be worth it since you would be so tired.” He winked.
Jake rolled his eyes.
“Normally you don’t use the limos or cars because you drive yourself to the mall where you work? Tell me; how is Abercrombie and Fitch these days?”
“Great.” Jace smirked. “Though by the looks of your clothing you’ve been there more recently than I have.”
Jackass.
“Ready to go, Mr. Senator?” The driver asked.
“Yes, Donald, thank you.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
“Senator?” Char’s eyebrows furrowed.
Son of a bitch.
Jake’s smile froze on his face as Jace shrugged and pulled out a bottled water. “Youngest senator in Oregon history.”
“Wow!” Char’s smile widened. “You must be so proud!”
There went that stupid humble look that Jace pulled off so well; no wonder he was a good actor: he was a damn politician! Don’t fall for it, Char! He’s a lying, cheating—
Shit, it was like he was looking in a damn mirror.
What the hell had Travis been thinking?
The car started moving and Jake’s stomach rolled again. He was never going to make it the fifteen minutes to their house.
Sitting backward wasn’t helping.
Char and Jace fell into easy conversation while Jake opened the window and wondered how awful it would be to jump from a moving vehicle, or to plan a homicide for that matter. Was there still a jail sentence if he paid someone off?
The car pulled to a stop.
Jake groaned against the window.
“Hey, champ, you okay?”
Champ? Did Jace just call him Champ?
“Fantastic.” Jake said through clenched teeth.
Jace’s smile was so damn irritating that if Jake did throw up, he vowed to do it all over the man’s black t-shirt and white linen pants. Who wore linen pants in the city? They weren’t at the beach, and they were practically see-through. The man might as well say, “Please stare at my junk.”
“Jake, are you sure you’re okay?” Char sounded actually concerned. He set his eyes on her and wanted to yell. He wasn’t okay, far from it, but he had to look strong; his self-esteem had suffered enough. Swallowing the bile in his throat he nodded once and winked at Char.
Her cheeks stained a pretty pink before her eyes darted away from his and back to Jace.
“Anyways, as I was saying…” Jace cleared his throat and shot an irritating glance at Jake before turning his megawatt smile back on Char.
The smell of fast food floated through the window. Jake tried to push the up button but it was too late. It knocked him flat. All of the nausea he’d been holding in starting rushing toward the back of his throat.
“I think I’m going to be si—”
He didn’t have time to finish the sentence; he hung his head out the window and lost every drink he’d had the previous night and probably the past year on the door.
And then he heard sirens.
Too miserable to say anything, he could only stare in horror as the cop pulled over the limo and approached Jake’s puke-stained door.
“Sir, you do know it’s against the law to—”
“It’s okay, Jim.” Jace said from behind Jake. “He’s with me.”
“Mr. Senator! Lovely day, isn’t it?” Jim, a pudgy cop, saluted. “You sure you got this? I could bring him in, rough him up a bit.”
You know you’re hungover when the thought of prison actually sounds like an attractive alternative to the pounding in your head.