Behind His Lens(22)

By the time I’m moving after her, Charley’s already halfway through the bar and I have to jog to catch up. When I slide beside her, she glances up at me with a timid smile.

“How can you move so quickly?” I murmur, wrapping my hand around her waist. The touch is too intimate, but it makes me feel like I’ve got a real hold on her. I don’t want her to trip and fall in those boots. Surprisingly, she doesn’t move away. Instead, she pushes back into me, giving me her weight and pressing her soft curves against me.

My arm practically engulfs her petite frame and I exhale thinking of what could have happened if she’d left by herself. Does she usually walk around at night alone? Surely Naomi sticks with her most of the time.

I hear her hum into my chest and I glance down. “I’m glad you’re coming with me,” she offers, and then looks down at the floor as if embarrassed that she’s told me the truth.

I gently lift her chin, just like I wanted to do at the photo shoot. “Are you sure you don’t want Tom to take you home?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious of what her reaction will be. Jealousy is a new feeling for me and I’m beginning to realize just how possessive I feel of this angel.

She chews on her lip but doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, her gentle gaze is focused on my stubble as she nods slowly.

“Say it, Charley.”

Her lips part gently and she breathes in a slow inhale.

“I want you to take me.”

CHAPTER SIX

Jude

Charley’s last semblance of sobriety dissipated during the cab ride home. The shots she took at the bar sank in, adding to the alcohol already coursing through her system. I am not this guy. I don't sleep with drunk women; therefore I don’t take care of drunk women. Yet, here I sit, cradling Charley against me and praying she won’t be sick before we get to her apartment.


“How many shots did you and Tom take?”

“Two.” She puckers her lips and drags out the “ew” sound.

“But I took a few shots before leaving home,” she clarifies, rolling her head toward the window. I’ve got a good hold on her, but I’m pretty sure if I let her go she’d slide right on down to the floor of the taxi.

“Do you normally drink that much?” I ask gently. I won’t judge her for it, but it concerns me that she didn’t think to eat more before she started.

“Never,” she whispers, and it’s impossible to ignore the sadness suddenly clouding her blue eyes. She looks hopelessly lost in that moment.

I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, uncertain of where her mind is starting to wander. She’s watching the New York landscape flash by through the window. It’s a few minutes later when she finally murmurs, “My mom drank a lot.”

Her confession catches me off guard. She looks too polished to come from a rotten past. The taxi pulls up to a stop sign and Charley watches a family taking their dog on a late night walk. What was her family like?

“I’d come home from school and usually she’d already have started on her second bottle of wine for the night. I know because she used to let me play with the corks,” she laughs sadly.

Her words are hazy as though they’re spilling from her mind like a daydream. Does she know she’s speaking out loud? She doesn’t look at me as she talks, and I don’t interrupt her. I want to know why there’s so much sadness in those eyes.

“She wasn’t like an alcoholic-alcoholic,” she laughs, but it doesn’t sound carefree. It sounds pained and hollow, so I pull her closer to me, trying to shield the sad memories.

“She functioned perfectly fine and had everybody in her social group fooled. She was poised and polished around them, but around me she turned into a nasty drunk. She’d say the meanest things to me while I was growing up. Drunk minds speak sober thoughts, right?” She pauses for a beat. “God, I hate her.”

The city lights illuminate the sudden paleness of her features as a tear slides down her delicate cheek. I reach out to swipe it away, for once not caring about the consequences of my actions. Tomorrow I’ll go back to being the old Jude, but right now I just want to be there for her.

“I’m sorry, Charley,” I whisper in her ear, watching the goose bumps bloom down her neck.

My words break through her daydream though, and she suddenly tries to scoot away. “Why am I telling you this?” She shakes away her thoughts and then leans her head back against the seat. The moment is gone and I can already feel her reserve building against the world once again.