Page 61 of Cold Mercy

“Go, Thomas!” she yells. “Get your woman! Carry her like the caveman you are!”

I swear I’m going to murder all three of them.

“I’m not his woman, and I will kill you tomorrow, Elizabeth, I swear to God,” I shout, upside down, my voice probably echoing off every brick in this alley.

Elizabeth gasps dramatically.

“Then why are you on his shoulder like a sexy little backpack?”

Thomas mutters under his breath, low enough only I can hear it, the vibration running straight through my torso. This idiot is impossible.

“Because she’s impossible, reckless, and, of course, refuses to walk her own damn self to the car.”

“Put. Me. Down.” I demand, every word punctuated with a hit to his shoulder.

“No.” His tone is infuriatingly simple. “You had your chance. You wanted to go back inside with that Ken doll? Over my dead body.”

He tightens his arm around my thighs just enough to adjust his hold. Not hurting, just keeping me from slipping.

Elizabeth claps again like she’s at a football game.

“Thomas Reed for president!”

James groans.

“Eli, for the love of God, stop encouraging him.”

“What?! He’s doing great!” she argues, leaning heavily on James like she might tip over at any second. “This is romance! This is passion! This is–”

“Drunken nonsense,” James finishes.

We reach the car, and Thomas finally sets me down, but not gently. Something in between, like he’s afraid I might bolt the second my feet touch the ground. I stumble a step, and his hand shoots out automatically, gripping my waist to steady me.

“Don’t,” I snap, brushing his hand off. “Don’t you dare act like a gentleman now.”

He steps closer anyway, his voice lower, rougher, thick with something I can’t name.

“Get in the car, Sophia. Now. Before I lose the last bit of patience I’ve got.”

Behind us, Elizabeth sways dangerously.

“See?” she slurs, poking James in the chest. “He’s only bossy because he’s in loooove.”

My treacherous, stupid traitor of a heart slams so hard.

Thomas drags a hand down his face.

“Elizabeth,” he warns.

She winks at him.

“Don’t worry, caveman. Your secret’s safe with me.”

But the nickname she chose for him suits him well. He should stay in the fucking cave he escaped from and stop tormenting me. I can’t take another second of this chaos. I yank open the passenger door and slide in, slamming it behind me, my pulse roaring.

Thomas slides into the back seat beside me while James helps a wobbling Elizabeth into the passenger seat, and for the first time in months, he looks genuinely stressed. Like wrangling three wild animals wasn’t on tonight’s agenda.

I press myself against the very edge of the backseat, practically flattening my body against the door just to create an inch of space between us. He still takes up three-quarters of the row, sitting there, arms folded, chest rising and falling with irritation. Then my purse buzzes with a distraction, finally.