Jax’s lips twitched. “Cute.”
“It’s not cute! And you’re not staying here. And I’m—”
“And you’re going to give me a ride home tomorrow morning when you head to the bar,” he finished, stopping in front of the couch.
“I’m not going . . .” My shriek faded off as his words sunk in. “What?”
“I’m going to need a ride tomorrow,” he repeated, dropping the pillows against one arm of the couch. “I drove your car here. The windshield’s been fixed.”
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