Mixed Signals

Chapter 7

Bay

I take out my phone, checking messages I know aren't there, or worth replying to. Of course, there's one from Mia, asking if I'm enjoying myself. Sent ten minutes ago. Just seeing that damned message is making me hate her that much more. So, I tap in the finger emoji and use about every curse word in the book. Telling her that she's going to regret ever bringing me here. And she's probably twice as drunk as I am right now. Grinding on some guy far hornier than either of us combined. I'll give it five—no two—minutes before the bastard has her by the hand and their off disappearing into a private room, ready to fuck each other's brains out.

And before I can even go there...Dylan's back with an unopened water bottle and a snack pack of Doritos. Suddenly my stomach turns. Hungry. As if getting drunk suddenly makes you crave food. Which, I know it does. I know this from years of watching my father in his condition. Even less so when he admitted himself into the treatment center. On and off every time he'd slip up and break his sobriety. This is the first in nearly a year that even he seems to get his shit together since Mom died.

I just have to get through the next hour or so, and then I can get the fuck out of here and sleep for the rest of the night. Fuck the sex that Dylan promised as a reward for my good behavior. I think that ship left port when I downed my third shot.

"Thanks." I say, taking the bottle. And, of course, I can't get the fucking cap off without getting a damn blister with the fucking razor cap.

"Here." Dylan takes the bottle and, with his damned muscles, manages to unscrew the cap in one move with no issues, gripping the bottle so it doesn't slip right out of his hand before handing it back to me.

I take one long drink, relief flooding me as I hydrate and try to sober up. Dylan opens the bag of chips and hands them to me. "Thanks." I snatch the bag, chowing down on the chips as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. When, in reality, it's only been a few hours.

"Better?"

"Yeah," I hand him the now empty bag of Doritos and empty water bottle. "Thanks. I really needed that."

"Okay, no more drinks for you tonight." He says. And I know it's not a suggestion by the dominant tone of his voice.

"Okay, Christian Grey," I giggle, amused by my own joke. "Whatever you say."

"Come on, let's get out of here. I think you've had enough fun for one night." Dylan says, before calling Mia over, whispering something in her ear.

The last thing I remember is Dylan helping me into his car before passing out as he backed out of the driveway, headed back home.