Ransom scoffs, attempting to hold me still, but I slap his hand away, and he growls.

The water has begun to flood the ground near my feet, hitting my face as it splashes off the hood, and back behind it, the lights inside the home flick on.

He growls, getting in my face, his lip curled in disgust. “You’re lucky it was a fucking fire hydrant, or I’d tie your ass to the wheel.”

“Excuse me—”

“Go,” he cuts me off, tearing the glove box open.

My head pulls back.

What does he mean, go?

But then my ears perk, the haze in my mind clearing as the shriek of the sirens cools the blood in my veins.

Whipping around, I spot a hint of flashing lights in the sky a few miles away.

My hands fly to my head, and I spin around, but then they’re covered with another pair.

I look up into Ransom’s angry eyes.

“I said go. Fucking. Home.” It’s the last thing he says before roughly pushing me away to the point I almost stumble over my own feet. He slips into the front seat of my car. “Now, Jameson!”

The ambulance grows closer, police lights on its tail.

“It’s... it’s fine. It was an accident.”

He whips around, his eyes bulging and then narrowing. He charges me, but the sirens grow louder and he stops in his tracks, a dark, disgusted laugh slipping past his lips.

He turns back to my car.

I growl, and without a second thought, I spin and run away. I run for blocks, and then walk for miles before I realize my purse is draped over my shoulder, my phone tucked inside, unscathed.

I lift it out, and as I do, I get a whiff of myself and freeze in my tracks.

The drink.

I’m covered in margarita.

You’re lucky it was a fucking fire hydrant...

Ransom smelled the tequila on me.

“Oh my god.” I would have gotten arrested, probably a DUI, even if I consumed none, and it would have been posted on the Orange County social media pages.

If Ransom hadn’t shown up, I would be royally—

Wait.

My arms fall to my sides and I subconsciously glance in the direction I came from.

He just happened to be in Scott’s neighborhood tonight?

I was kidding before, but maybe he really is a stalker.

Disoriented, I try to shake my mind free, and pull my phone closer. I scroll until I reach my sister’s name, but once I’m staring at it, my thumb decides to hover there.

If I call, she’ll ask questions, which is fine. I could tell her what happened, and she’d have my back if I needed her to, but who will have Ransom’s?

Why is that my problem?