Which, to be fair, I was.
The bar went quiet. A few patrons stared, but most looked away quickly, sensing that making eye contact with me right now was a bad survival strategy. I turned back to the bar, finally looking at her.
Callie was staring at me, her pupils blown so large her irises were just thin rings of violet-blue. She looked like a wreck…hair wild, uniform rumpled, trembling so hard the ice in her whiskey glass chattered against the glass.
“You followed me,” she said, the words heavy with a numb kind of shock.
“Greyson thought you might need a ride,” I lied smoothly. “The fog is thick tonight.”
“I blew up a hotel,” she blurted out.
The confession seemed to vomit out of her before she could stop it. Instantly, her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes darted around the bar
