Chapter 11

Marie’s POV

Tristan drives with one hand on the wheel and the radio down low, and every time I sway even slightly toward the door in the passenger seat, he reaches over without a word and steadies me by the shoulder. His palm is warm against my jacket, his thumb rubbing small, reassuring circles over the fabric until the truck smooths out.

"You're being very well-behaved about this," I tell him, or something close to that — the words are coming out a little softer at the edges than I mean them to.

"About what?"

"Driving drunk me home. Guys usually have opinions about drunk me."

"I'm not guys." He glances over, easy smile, eyes back on the road fast. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. "You want water? I've got a bottle in the back."

"I've had so much water tonight, Tristan."

"Have more. Hydration's not a bit,