Indie's Pov
I sneaked another peek. He was still staring. It made my skin prickle. I hated that my first instinct was to look down, like I'd been caught doing something wrong. The bottle of wine sat untouched—I was already too lightweight for another glass.
I fumble for my phone, trying to order a ride immediately, but the screen blurred my vision, the apps doubling as I tried to focus.
How am I going to get home? I should have left with Leo and Jennie.
I barely made it to my feet. The room tilted violently and I grabbed the table. "Damn."I slurred —then the world blinked out, everything dissolving as my balance gave way.
A hand slid around my waist, steadying me as warmth surged through my body, my back fitting too easily against the huge frame. My heart kicked hard.
"Careful," He muttered, his deep voice resonating through my spine.
"I'm good." I fumbled away, but he only released me once I leaned against the table, my vision clearing for a brief moment.
I lifted my head and lost my breath for a second. The stranger from earlier stood impossibly close—well over six feet, his face so sharply chiseled he could've passed for a model. Even in a suit and tie, his body promised far too much, and heat rushed to my face at my own reckless imagination.
He coughed, and when I looked up, he was smirking. I dropped my gaze too fast, embarrassed.
"I can give you permission to do more than just stare," he murmured, his eyes sliding down my body, unhurried, deliberate. Heat flared through me, sudden and uncontrollable.
I stopped myself from tugging the gown lower. It had to be the alcohol—I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until his eyes returned to my face.
He tilted his head, studying me. "Your date stood you up?"
I parted my lips, but nothing came out. The ugly incident with Dylan refused to resurface, leaving my mind blank.
"I—."
"Let me take you home," he offered easily.
"Thanks, but I can get myself home." I muttered, even as my knees threatened to wobble.
Letting a stranger take me home wasn't safe, but I shoved the thoughts down. I drew a shaky breath, trying to clear the fog, and turned to leave.
Each step was heavy, my balance unsure, and all the while I could feel him behind me, watching, eyes glued to my every moment.
Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's the flicker of Dylan and Maggie in my mind—but against my better judgement, I turned to meet his unwavering stare.
I swallowed. He just stood there, watching me, eyes sharp and narrowed.
I swayed. "28th Mason Building," I slurred, wishing only to arrive home safely.
His brow furrowed. "Huh?"
"That's my address."
His lips curled into a slow smile, flipping my stomach in ways I hated and couldn't hide.
He moved beside me, hands firm at my waist, guiding me out of the club.
He led me to the garage, where a car's headlights cut through the dim.
I froze. A dark emerald Rolls-Royce ghost gleamed before me.
I wanted to pull away, heart racing, but he barely acknowledged my hesitation. With a shaky breath, I braved it and eased into the open passenger seat.
The cold air pricked my skin, and the scent of leather was still strong. He slid in and slammed the door, the engine purring steadying as he zoomed out.
We drove in silence for the first few minutes, and I battled the alcohol, the creeping sleep, and the unnerving pressure of him so close.
"Are you cold?" His voice cuts through the quiet hum of the engine.
"No, I'm good," I muttered, avoiding his gaze.
He hummed. I stole a quick glance at him, heart thumping. Getting into a car with a total stranger… that had never been on my to do list.
Dylan wouldn't even let me—
"I asked earlier, did your date really stand you up?" he repeated, his eyes fixed on me.
I shook my head, hating the memory. "It was just a friend's gathering."
He nodded, not intruding.
My eyes drifted over the passing trees, houses, and poles, and I bit my cheek every so often, struggling to stay awake.
He turned onto the last street leading up to my house, and I stiffened, bracing myself for a goodbye. When the engine cuts off outside my apartment, I fumble with my seatbelt, heart racing.
"I'll get the door," he said, hopping out.
I stayed put, wary of ruining anything. Dylan had it drilled into me when he got his Porsche last year, never, ever scratch the car.
The door unlocked, and he held it open. I brushed past him, catching the warmth of his body and the subtle pull of his cologne before he shut the door behind us.
"I'll walk you to your door." he said, calm and steady.
I didn't argue. He followed silently, his footsteps echoing softly as I climbed the porch, heart thumping in time with each step.
I fumble for the keys, palms sweaty. He stepped in behind me, trapping me between the door and his broad frame.
"Let me help you?" He murmured, taking my bag with both hands, his chest brushing mine as he searched for my keys.
I held my breath, terrified he'd notice how fast my heart was racing.
"Found it." he whispered, sliding the key into the lock, not moving an inch.
I turned to push the door open, trying to disentangle myself from him, but ended up brushing against him instead. My face flamed, and I stepped inside hastily.
When I turned to face him, his head was tilted to the side.
"Cozy apartment!" He said.
I nodded.
"I should get going?" he said.
"Uhm—do you want to come in?" I blurted, regretting it instantly.
He stepped inside almost immediately.
The door shut behind him as he glanced around. I fumbled to kick off my shoes, suddenly aware of how disoriented my apartment looked.
"You live alone?" he asked.
I stumbled in, grabbing the edge of the table as I snatched my bathrobe off it.
"Yeah. I live alone." I said too quickly, circling the couch before racing into my bedroom to dump the robe I'd stupidly forgotten while getting ready earlier.
I could hear him moving around, every sound setting my senses on edge, like some god had descended just to inspect me.
I took a shaky breath and returned.
He was right there, close to the couch.
I rub my palms on my dress, my words sucked in my throat. I exhaled trying to steady myself.
"Do you… need to drink?"
"I need something to eat!" he said, with a teasing smirk, dropping one of Dylan's infamous collection of erotic magazines on the table.
"Those aren't mine!" I froze, cheeks burning.
"You said you lived alone," he murmured, tone accusatory.
"I—" I cursed Dylan for leaving his hobbies out in the living room.
"I'm just teasing you," he shrugged, hands digging in his pockets, the fabric clinging against him in a way that made me aware of every inch.
"The game console, the sneakers… I take it you have a male roommate? your brother." he asked.
"Yeah…" I exhaled, grateful, my chest still fluttering. "Yeah… something like that."
He shifted his gaze away, and I felt my nerves fighting to settle.
I scrambled to change the topic."There's pasta in the fridge—I'll microwave it." I tried to squeeze past him into the kitchen.
But he caught my hands before I could.
"I'm not talking about that kind of food, cherry."