JASMINE
Blake climbed into the driver’s seat. I looked over at him, watching his eyes scan my body. “Damn, you smell like a bar. How much booze did Luke give you?” he questioned as he started the car.
“We shared three bottles of wine.”
“It’s like he was trying to get you as drunk as possible so he could get in your pants.”
“I don’t think so,” I groaned.
“You sound like you were hoping he’d get in your pants.”
“Mm,” I responded noncommittally.
He pulled out of the packhouse lot and drove down the dark and quiet streets. “Are you sure you want to go home in that state? You’re really drunk right now and there’s no question that your parents will be able to smell it on you.”
“Oh Goddess, my mom is going to claw me,” I moaned.
“Claw you?”
“She slapped me this morning because I told her I drank at the party lake last night. And she told me she’d use her claws next time. I am so screwed.”
He burst out laughing. “You know, I did get an official complaint today that the lake wasn’t b
