The Fangirl and the Crooner: Fangirls of Evening Shade Book 3 by Piper James

Author:Piper James [James, Piper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Eighteen

Bram

Every eye save for Pressley’s––who seems to be dozing off against my shoulder––is on me, all filled with excessive humor. I roll my own eyes at them and lift my shoulder to nudge Pressley a little bit without completely dislodging her.

“I guess you liked the margaritas I sent over?” I ask, turning my head so my lips move against her hair as I speak.

“Yes, I did. They were yummy. Just like you,” she replies accentuating those last three words.

Keegan spits her drink out across the table, making Willow and Gavin slide their chairs back in reflex. They start to laugh as Keegan attempts to clean up the mess with cocktail napkins while apologizing through her own laughter.

Whipping my arm around Pressley’s shoulder, I pull her against my chest, clear my throat, and say, “Okay, I think it’s time we get you home and into bed.”

Pressley nods against my chest, then inhales deeply like she’s savoring my scent before exclaiming, “Yay! Take me to your bed, Brammie-boo!”

I close my eyes and groan as Keegan and Willow titter behind their glasses. My cock twitches a bit at Pressley’s words, but I ignore it. I will not be taking Pressley to my bed tonight. Not like this.

I freeze, then rush to correct my mental mistake. I won’t be taking her to my bed any night. We’re just friends, and that’s all we will be until she moves out of my place. Yeah. That’s what I meant.

Blowing out a long breath, I push to my feet and carefully guide Pressley up and out of her chair. Willow reaches over to dig into the pocket of Pressley’s jeans, fishing out her car keys and jiggling them in the air.

“I’ll make sure her car gets back to your house,” she promises, and I nod in thanks before plucking Pressley’s purse from the back of her chair and saying goodbye to everyone.

As I guide her toward the exit, someone lets out a loud wolf whistle, and I flinch. But I don’t look back. Odds are good that the whistler was Keegan, and I’d only be feeding into her humor if I acknowledged it. Laughter follows us out into the parking lot, and Pressley somehow manages to stay on her feet as I half-carry her to my car.

She sighs as I get her settled in the passenger’s seat, then lets out a husky hum as I lean in over her to buckle her seatbelt. Those little noises play hell with my equilibrium, and when I pull myself out and close the door, shutting her inside, I take a moment to breathe deep and settle myself.

Once we’re on the road, Pressley is silent. Her face is turned toward me, and when I glance over, her eyes are closed. I’m pretty sure she’s dozing, and she doesn’t stir when we pull into the driveway. I climb out of the car and rush around to her side. After I open the door and lean in to unbuckle her seatbelt, she yawns and stretches.

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