Alisa
“Can you even drive?” I ask Derrick as we start to pack up. “You drank a lot.”
“I’m not drunk,” he grunts and throws our luggage in the back of the car. “Although, I really wish I were.”
He doesn’t look drunk. He’s as steady on his feet as he always is, but there’s something in the back of my mind. A memory, I think. I can hear his voice, but I can’t see his face. “Someone once told me if a person who has been drinking tells you they can drive just fine, they're probably lying.”
“Who told you that?” Derrick turns to me, his blue eyes piercing through my thin veil.
I shrug. “I can’t really remember.”
“Well, there you have it.” He slams the trunk shut and holds the keys out to me. “Do you want to drive?”
I take an involuntary step back. “I- no. I can’t drive.”
“I’ll teach you.”
