AT YOUR SERVICE MADAM

Chapter 6- One Hell of a Ride

Her lips were inches from mine.

Too close. Too damn close.

Every nerve in my body was screaming stop, but my brain wasn’t listening. I could feel her breath—warm, soft, a little heavy with whiskey—ghosting against my skin. My pulse was going wild, like my heart had forgotten how to behave.

One more second and she’d have kissed me.

One more second and I wouldn’t have stopped her.

But before that second came, her head suddenly dropped forward, hitting my shoulder with a soft thud.

I froze.

Then I blinked.

And when I realized what had just happened, I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes for a moment.

“Jesus, thank you,” I muttered, the words slipping out like a prayer.

She was out cold.

Completely gone.

Her breathing was slow and soft, her lips parted, her cheek pressed against my neck. Her perfume still clung to me—sweet, expensive, and way too dangerous for a night like this.

I looked down at her. She looked peaceful now, like all the chaos had finally let her go for a minute. But I knew better. Tomorrow, she’d wake up with a headache, a hangover, and maybe a bit of regret.

And me? I’d still be stuck wondering how the hell I ended up here.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “You really know how to make a night interesting, don’t you, Avela?”

No response. Of course.

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t wake. I sat there for a second, feeling the weight of her against me, her head heavy on my shoulder, her hand still clutching my shirt like she was afraid to let go.

I couldn’t just leave her here. Not in this bar. Not in this state.

So I did the only thing that made sense.

I slid my arms under her and lifted her up.

She was lighter than I expected, her head falling against my chest as I stood. The bartender gave me a strange look, but I ignored it. I’d dealt with worse nights.

The bar’s door creaked as I pushed it open. Cold night air hit my face, sharp and clean after the thick smell of whiskey and smoke inside. I adjusted her in my arms, pulling her a little closer.

“Guess it’s just you and me now,” I muttered. “Lucky me.”

Her hair brushed against my jaw. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out—something that sounded like “Cameron,” and my jaw clenched.

If I saw that bastard tonight, I’d break his nose.

Hell, I’d probably enjoy it.

I kept walking toward my truck, the street quiet except for the faint hum of a broken streetlight and the distant sound of some drunk guys laughing down the block. The ground was slick with rain, puddles shining under the dim lights.

By the time I reached my truck, my arms were starting to ache, but I didn’t dare set her down. She looked too fragile like this.

I opened the door and carefully placed her in the passenger seat. She slumped to the side, her head lolling against the window.

“Hey, hey, none of that,” I murmured, straightening her up. “You’ll hurt your neck.”

Her head lolled the other way. I sighed.

“Yeah, okay, that works too.”

I leaned in and buckled her seatbelt. She mumbled something again, her voice soft and broken.

I paused, listening.

“Lucas,” she whispered.

That single word hit harder than it should’ve.

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard and forced a smile she couldn’t see. “Yeah, I’m here,” I said quietly. “You’re safe now.”

I closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Sliding in, I started the engine. The rumble filled the silence, steady and familiar.

For a moment I just watched her. Her face was turned toward the window, moonlight brushing against her skin. Even drunk and messy, she looked like something out of a dream—beautiful, broken, dangerous.

I kept my eyes on the road, the night stretching out ahead of us.

The city lights faded behind, replaced by long stretches of dark highway and empty fields. I didn’t live far—just a small house outside town, quiet enough for someone who’d seen too much noise.

Halfway there, I glanced at her again.

That’s when I heard it.

A low sound. A groan.

I frowned. “Avela?”

She shifted slightly, a hand moving to her stomach.

Oh no.

“Hey,” I said, slowing the truck. “You okay?”

She made a small noise in response, something between a moan and a sigh.

Then came the dry heave.

“Oh, hell no,” I muttered, reaching for a napkin that didn’t exist.

I steered to the side of the road fast, hitting the brakes just in time. “Wait—wait, don’t—”

But before I could even finish the sentence, she turned, grabbed the door handle—tried to open it—

And missed.

She didn’t even get the chance to lean out before it happened.

She threw up.

All over the side of the seat.

I just sat there. Staring.

The smell hit a second later.

I closed my eyes, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Beside me, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, blinking at me like she had no idea what just happened.

Then—she smiled.

A sleepy, innocent smile.

“Feel better now?” I asked dryly.

She gave a soft hum that might’ve been a yes.

And then—just like that—her head fell back, and she passed out again.

I looked at her, at the mess, at my truck, and then at the dark road stretching out ahead of me.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “I save you from falling, I carry you out like a damn hero, and this is my reward?”

She didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t.

Her breathing had evened out again, soft and slow. She looked completely peaceful, while I sat there in the driver’s seat, half-covered in vomit, questioning every life decision that led me here.

I leaned back with a sigh, running both hands through my hair. “You’re lucky you’re beautiful,” I told her quietly. “Otherwise I’d be leaving you right here.”

She didn’t move.

I started the truck again, keeping one hand on the wheel and one near her just in case she decided to repeat the performance.

The rest of the drive was silent—except for the faint sound of her soft breathing and the occasional muttered word I couldn’t catch.

When I finally turned into my driveway, the clock on the dashboard glowed past midnight. My small house sat in the middle of a dark stretch of land, quiet and still under the stars.

I parked and turned off the engine.

For a second, I just sat there, looking at her again. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick half gone, her head tilted toward me. She looked nothing like the confident woman from earlier—the one who had declared she wanted to start a war.

Now, she just looked… human.

I got out, walked around, and opened her door. “Alright, sleeping beauty,” I muttered. “Round two.”

She didn’t even stir when I unbuckled her. I slipped my arms under her again, careful not to wake her.

Her head fell against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. She smelled like whiskey and something soft beneath it—something that didn’t belong in bars or heartbreak.

As I carried her toward the porch, I couldn’t help but smile a little. “You’re trouble, you know that?” I whispered. “Pure trouble.”

The night air was cold enough to bite, but she was warm in my arms.

I kicked the door open gently and stepped inside. The lights were dim, the place quiet. My small couch waited by the fireplace, and that’s where I planned to put her.

But before I could even take two steps, she mumbled something again, her voice soft against my neck.

“Lucas,” she breathed.

“Yeah?” I whispered.

Her lips brushed the edge of my collar as she spoke. “You smell nice.”

I stopped walking.

“Of course I do,” I said flatly, because what else could I say?

She giggled faintly—barely there—and I shook my head, setting her gently on the couch. She immediately turned over, pulling one of the throw pillows close like it was the most important thing in the world.

I watched her for a moment, then sighed again, long and low.

“Guess you’re staying here tonight,” I said softly.

Her only response was a faint snore.

I chuckled quietly, rubbing a hand over my face. “You’ve got no idea what kind of mess you just brought into my life, do you?”

I went back out to the truck to grab a towel, trying not to think too much about the disaster waiting in the passenger seat. The smell was already sinking in. Great.

When I came back inside, she hadn’t moved an inch. She looked peaceful, finally.

And even though the night had been chaos, I couldn’t help but feel something warm settle in my chest.

I headed toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of water—and maybe a stiff drink to forget the smell in my truck.

But before I could even take a sip, I heard a faint sound from the living room.

A soft groan.

I frowned. “Don’t tell me…”

I rushed back in time to see her shift, one hand moving over her stomach again.

“Oh no,” I muttered, setting the bottle down. “Not again—”

She sat up halfway, blinked, smiled sleepily—

And before I could move—

She threw up again.

Right on my floor.

I froze.

She blinked at me, wiped her mouth, and whispered, “Sorry.”

Then she smiled—sweet, innocent—and fell back against the couch, sound asleep again.

I stared at her, at the mess, at my ruined floor, and felt my soul leave my body.

“Yeah,” I said after a long moment, my voice dry. “One hell of a ride.”