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He moves to drape the jacket over her head, careful to cover all of her blonde hair. Now, the femme looks like any other girl Ezra could've picked out in this club. As he pushes the door open, a few security guards meet him and push back the growing crowd of photographers.
"Ezra!" "Ezra, over here!" "Who's the girl?" "Who's the mystery girl?" "Ezra!"
He's thankful she's able to keep her footing from the sidewalk to the car, and Ezra makes a point of concealing her from the cameras as he helps her into the backseat with the jacket still draped over her head. He slips in after her before the door shuts out the flashes of light and hollering.
"The windows are tinted and flash proof," the driver greets, "They won't see you or Miss Fields once the partition goes up, sir."
"Thank you," Ezra breathes. Once the dark glass between the driver and the backseat closes, he moves to pull the jacket off her head. He's surprised to see that Billie is staring right at him.
A languid laugh escapes her lips. "You put a jacket over my head," she slurs tiredly.
"I did," he chuckles, "Didn't want anyone seeing you."
"Right," she whispers, though it's a poor attempt at keeping quiet, "We have to be secretive."
"That's right," he assures, and now it's clear that Billie is not really looking at him. In fact, it feels like she's in an entirely other dimension.
"Now we can be alone," she mumbles, hand finding his as if it's second nature. Ezra looks down at their intertwined fingers before slowly slipping out of her grasp. They had held hands before during sex, but never outside of that space. Something about her wanting to now leaves a terrible taste in his mouth.
The idea that she only wanted to touch him when she was turned on or incredibly intoxicated plays over and over in his head.
"You're tired," he breathes, "Close your eyes."
Now, she's inching closer to him from across the long, leather seat. Her hand grips at his once more, and Ezra allows her to continue holding it this time for the sake of appeasing her. She's clearly too fucked up to realize what's she's doing, and maybe she even thinks he's someone else. "Are you taking me home?"
"Yes," he rasps.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles out, "For making you wait all night."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assures, attention focused on anything but her eyes. The green doesn't look the same when she's like this.
"I'll make up for it," she assures, and her hand moves to grip at the inside of his thigh. Ezra can't help the way his stomach knots. He immediately reaches for her hand, pulling her away from him.
"What?" she questions with a frown, "You don't want me to?"
"Not tonight," he replies softly, "You've had too much."
