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half-expected Lorenzo to be gone.
    But he was still there, slouching a little in his chair, sipping his vodka. Alexa reached for her drink—a Peartini, at Lorenzo’s suggestion—and was surprised it was half gone. Man, she thought, I am truly wasted .
    Lorenzo smiled that awesome smile. His eyes weren’t just brown, she noticed. They were light brown. Tiger’s eye, she thought. She had a tiger’s eye choker her mom had given her a couple months before she died. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it, but she loved looking at the stones.
    “If you kids’ll excuse me,” Taylor said, “I really need to get going.”
    “Taylor!” Alexa said.
    “Why?” said Lorenzo. “Please stay.”
    “Can’t,” Taylor said. “My dad’s waiting up for me.” With a conspiratorial sparkle in her eye, Taylor gave a little wave and disappeared into the crowd.
    Lorenzo moved to Taylor’s chair, next to Alexa’s. “That’s okay. Tell me about you, Lucia. How come I never see you here before?”
    For a moment she forgot who “Lucia” was.

    Now she was definitely drunk.
    She felt like she was floating above the clouds, singing along to Rihanna, smiling like an idiot, while Lorenzo was saying something to her. The room swam. She was finding it hard to separate his voice from everyone else’s, a cacophony of a thousand individual conversations, little snatches, layer upon layer upon layer, none of them making any sense. Her mouth was dry. She reached for her glass of Pellegrino, knocked it over. Smiled sheepishly. She just stared at the spill open-mouthed, amazed that the water glass hadn’t broken, gave Lorenzo a goofy smile, and he gave that spectacular smile back, his brown eyes soft and sexy. He reached over and dropped his napkin over the puddle to blot it up.
    She said, “I think I need to go home.”
    “I take you,” he said.
    He tossed a bunch of twenties on the table, stood, reached for her hand. She tried to stand but it felt like her knees were hinged. He took her hand again, his other hand around her waist, half-lifted her up.
    “My car…”
    “You shouldn’t drive,” he said. “I drive you home. You can get your car back tomorrow.”
    “But…”
    “It’s not a problem. Come, Lucia.” He steered her through the crowd, his arms strong. People were staring at her, leering, laughter echoing, the lights streaky rainbow and glittery, like being underwater and looking up at the sky, everything so distant.

    Now she felt the pleasant clear coolness of the late-night air on her face.
    Traffic noise, the bleat of car horns, smearing by.
    She was lying down on the back seat of a strange car, her cheek pressed against the cold hard cracked leather. The car smelled like stale cigarette smoke and beer. A few beer bottles rolled around on the floor. A Porsche, she was pretty sure, but old and skeezy and filthy inside. Definitely not what she imagined a guy like Lorenzo driving.
    “Do you know how to get there?” she tried to say. But the words came out slurred.
    She felt seasick, hoped she wasn’t going to vomit in the back seat of Lorenzo’s Porsche. That would be nasty.
    She wondered: How did he know where to go?

    Now she heard the car door open and close. The engine had been shut off. Why was he stopping so soon?
    When she opened her eyes, she noticed it was dark. No streetlights. No traffic sounds, either. Her sluggish brain registered a faint, distant alarm. Was he leaving her here? Where were they? What was he doing?
    Someone was walking toward the Porsche. It was too dark to make out his face. A lean, powerful build, that was all she could see.
    The door opened, and the light came on, illuminating the man’s face. Shaved head, piercing blue eyes, sharp jaw, unshaven. Handsome, until he smiled and showed brown rodent’s teeth.
    “Come with me, please,” the new man said.
    *   *   *
    She awoke in the back seat of a big new SUV. An Escalade, maybe, or a Navigator.
    Very warm in here, almost hot.