A/N: I ACTUALLY SUGGEST YOU READ THIS.

Okay, so I wrote this a while back, thinking I'd this into a multi-chapter fic, but feel absolutely uninspired to complete it. I hadn't planned on writing more. However, I'm against deleting it considering I took my time out to write this for you. So here it is—the incomplete part 2 to The Words I Never Said. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Becca Fitzpatrick owns any Hush, Hush characters that may appear in this story. Most of this fiction is purely from my imagination. Please do not post it elsewhere without my express permission. No copyright infringement intended.

Songs that inspired me:

I WAS PICKING UP AN ORDER WHEN SCOTT PUSHED IN THROUGH THE DOUBLE DOORS, SPORTING A FAT GRIN.

"Grey!" He cheered, throwing his arms up in the air. I took him in—heavy-lidded gaze, lazy smile and swayed steps—as he approached me. Within a foot of me, his hand wrapped around my jaw, long fingers biting into my cheek as he rocked my puckered face from side-to-side. "I've been looking everywhere for yoooou!" He cooed. I shoved his hand away and rubbed my cheeks.

"You're drunk." I frowned.

It wasn't a question nor was I really shocked about it, which surprised me since I didn't know Scott like that. Yet, I sorta realized that Scott did have a problem—whether it was drinking or gambling, I didn't know.

He leaned over, his face suddenly inches from mine and cocked his brow. "Am I, Grey?"

I could smell the faint aroma of liquor on his breath. I pushed against his chest, watching him rock back unsteadily. "Well, I'm just guessing but you smell like a brewery."

"Well if that's case, it's a good thing I ran into you." He grinned, unabashed. "I'm exhausted and some guys I hung with were heading out to a party at Delphic. I'd ask one of 'em to take me home but they're just as smashed as I am."

"So you want me to drive you home." I guessed.

"Exactly," he sighed like he had taken a load off. He braced his hands on my shoulders and looked at me seriously. If I didn't know better, I would've thought he was about to ask me the most important question of his life. "Would you, Nora Grey, be my designated driver?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm still on the clock." I told Scott truthfully. " I don't get off until nine. Sorry."

He almost pouted, nudging his fist into my chin. "You never do anything fun."

"Being you chauffeur is fun?"

"It is when you get to drive The 'Stang."

I cocked a brow. "'The 'Stang'?"

"Come on Nora," He groaned, nudging me again. "Friends don't let friends drive drunk."

"Yeah and real friends don't let friends get drunk." I chastised then sighed. "Sit down. I'll take you home when my shift is over."

He frowned and made a whining noise in the back of his throat. Suddenly his hands shot out and then he was shaking me. "Noooorrrrrraaaaa!" He whined. Who knew he could be such a child? For a moment, he rocked me back and forth like that, whining at me until I caved.

"Alright, alright!" I snapped, pushing away from him. "Fine, just give me a minute you big baby." I was pretty sure that new my boss wouldn't mind if I decided to cut through my shift and she didn't.

I had been working at Enzo's Bistro for a little over a week now. If it didn't interfere with my summer school course, I'd spend most of my time here. I'd take up extra hours, doing little things like stocking up on straws and napkins for the dispensers or take in inventory every night. It wasn't the funnest job but since Vee was too hung up on Rixon and I didn't have a boyfriend to constantly obsess over, I had nothing better to do.

Don't get me wrong. I was glad that she was enjoying her summer romance. She even sang "Summer Nights" over the phone to me once and laughed at herself afterwards. It was cute, really and I couldn't be more happy for her.

I just wished that I wasn't the third-wheel. I can't tell you how much it sucks to be lonely.

"Thanks again," Scott yawned when I settled into the driver side of his mustang. I guess he wasn't kidding when he said he was beat. Suddenly, all of the drunken enthusiasm was drained out of him and he looked almost harmless. For a second, I could've said he was cute. You know, in a boyish way that softened his jerky personality.

But I said nothing as I started up the mustang and pulled off the curb.

†•†•†

20 minutes later, I was winding through a narrow path, down on Deacon Rd. I stopped in front of an apartment complex, with tiny balconies and the butt of rusty air conditioners sticking out of every fifth window. The place looked like it could use a little renovation.

I parked the car and killed the engine. "We're here."

I waited a moment before I was poking Scott in the neck to wake him up. He shifted restlessly in his seat and grudgingly woke up enough to open his eyes. But as soon as he took in the complex, he just slumped back in his seat.

"C'mon," I frowned impatiently. "I brought you home like you asked."

"I had to beg you." He snorted, shifting in his seat some more so that his back was to me. I scowled and reached over to pinch his arm until he was sitting up again.

"I should've gone to the party instead." He muttered. He turned to me. "Come on, lets go. It's still early and I could use another drink."

"No." I told him firmly. "You begged me to drop you off and that's what I did."

He threw his head back and groaned petulantly. "Honestly, it's not like you've got anything better to do. And besides how are you supposed to get around without a car?" He pointed out with his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm getting a headache."

"Why can't I just take The 'Stang home and bring it back tomorrow after school?" I asked, ignoring his last comment. "You can pick it up at my job."

"Maybe I don't want to lend my car." he muttered.

"Well why not?"

His hand left his face and then he was looking at me thoughtfully. "I dunno." He shrugged. There was a pause and for a moment he just studied me. Distractedly, he reached out to twirl a mahogany curl around his long digit. "Maybe I meant to get you alone." He murmured much more quietly, his expression too sober all too sudden.

I froze a little, a chill settling into my spine. What was I supposed to make of that? Maybe I was being a little paranoid but the last time a guy tried to get me alone, it was to kill me.

I started to panic—my heart hammering and breath leaving me shakily—as he drew in towards me. I felt his hand disappearing into my mess of curls before I felt his lips pressed against mine. Like that, everything just seemed to stop: my heart, my breath, my body. I found myself only able to stare wide-eyed, tense and rigid in my seat as Scott Parnell kissed me.

Strangely enough, my body wasn't rejecting this. In fact, my body seemed to hum to life with this new found warmth where his hands caressed my face and my eyes fell closed. His lips were dry and rough against my soft skin, but not unpleasant as his kisses grew more insistent and admittedly, even a little sloppy. And though I was too wound up really to enjoy any of his ministrations, I couldn't ignore how nice it felt to have his lips run across my jaw or nip on my neck.

But it was strange being like this with Scott. I mean, it was Scott. Scotty the Potty. The kid I've known from the time I was still haunted by the boogeyman.

And he was kissing me.

What's worse was that the first thing my mind jumped to was that he was not Patch. My body was accustomed to Patch's measured hands and practiced kisses.

I couldn't even remember the last boyfriend I had (well, other than Patch). Being with Patch had always consumed my thoughts. Every time his skin met mine, every time he played with my hair or looked into my eyes, I drifted farther away from reality. I had forgotten what it was like to kiss another guy. A normal guy. And it made me hate the part of me that liked it. Especially when his fingers stroked the expanse of warm flesh under my top.

That is until his fingers slowly started creeping up. Then I remembered where I was and why I couldn't myself enjoy this. The more I let my mind delve into this, the more uncomfortable I got and soon I was cringing away—trying to pull away from Scott's insistent grasp.

"What are you doing?" he groaned roughly.

"You're drunk." I told him and if I didn't know better, I'd think that when he threw the car door open and hurled out all over the asphalt that it's like I'd given him a cue or something. "See," I muttered to no one in paticular.

"Fuck!" he hissed and groaned, not even attempting to sit back in his seat. He let out another hurl and I found myself a little less than grossed out and a lot more piteous as I rubbed his back. I heard him, rather than see him spit out the rest and suck in a deep breath. Grasping onto his sweater, I lugged him back into his seat and roll the 'Stang a little farther up the block.

I threw my head back, wishing I wasn't such a good person and that I could leave Scott here as intoxicated and disheveled as he was. But I couldn't. So I sighed and hauled my ass around to the other side of his car, trying my damnedest to carry most of Scott's weight as I pulled him out.

"C'mon buddy," I groaned and started for the complex.

†•†•†

Scott sat on a red stool, hunched over the counter in his u-shaped kitchen. For a boy as big as Scott, his place was miniature. And when I say miniature, I mean Barbie's Malibu dream house puts the place to shame. There wasn't a lot in the small apartment—very little furniture, a small fridge too big to call a mini-fridge and a narrow hall that led to three other doors. It's mean, but I could see why he'd want to stay away from home.

I scoured the fridge for a little water but decided to go with tap water since there wasn't much accept for some cake wrapped in aluminum, leftovers and three bottles of beer. I ran the water and waited for it to cool. I was sure he wouldn't mind.

"Here, you . . . go?" I turned from the sink with a cup of water but Scott wasn't hunched over the counter like I thought. "Scott?" I called out and when I looked down the hall, a silver of light peaked out from a door on the right.

I peered in a little. Scott was rinsing out his mouth with mouth wash, having already brushed his teeth. Gingerly, I squeezed in and I popped-a-squat on the hood of his toilet. He swashed the cool blue liquid around his mouth a few more times before spitting it out into the sink. I held up the cup of water to him when he was finished splashing his face with cold water and waited silently as he downed it in thick gulps. If his eyes weren't so heavy and his skin so pale, he'd look like a model in one of those high-priced ads for athletes or something.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You probably should've taken that with an aspirin or something. You're gonna feel like crap tomorrow morning."

He shrugged and settled on the edge of his stained, porcelain tub. It was old and the tile behind him was grimy. "I always do." He studied me for a moment, almost appraising me. "No one's ever looked after me the way you do. Not even my mom." He remarked. "It's weird."

I laughed. "It's weird?"

He cracked a smile, scratching the back of his ear in the way that he does. "Not weird weird," he explained. "Just weird in a nice way. I'm not used to nice."

I picked at my nails.

"Where's you mom?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know. It's probably bingo night."

"You're alone here a lot?"

He rested his elbows on his knees and he nodded. "Pretty much."

"Same here." I shared, fussing with my nails. "My mom's usually away at business when she's not here keeping an eye on me. And since my dad died, my place has been really . . . empty. There's pictures and furniture and junk but it's like nobody lives there anymore."

"Most things are temporary."

"That's a morbid way to look at things."

"It's the only way I look at things." Scott shrugged.

I frowned. "Is that why you choose to get wasted?"

"Life sucks bad enough when you're aware that you're a screw up. At least when you're half out of it, it's easier to ignore. It's easier to pretend that some things aren't real."

"Scott," I said seriously and when he wouldn't look at me, I took his hand in mine, squeezing it. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say to him and there was plenty that I could say, but wouldn't be anything Scott would want to here. He glanced up at our linked hands and squeezed me back.

"Don't pity me, Grey." He warned.

"You've been neglected, that's all." I said softly and tried to ignore this weird feeling I got in my stomach. I was almost startled when my cellphone suddenly chimed. It was a text message from Vee. I had called her earlier, asking her to pick me up at Scott's place. "That's Vee." I told him. "I should get going."

We both stood and I realized just how small this bathroom was when there was only a few feet between us.

We shuffled out—me awkwardly, Scott leisurely—and he walked me to the door like a gentlemen. "Thanks again," Scott murmured too closely and I just nodded. I was just about prepared to peel out of there when he tapped my shoulder and I turned around instinctively. Suddenly, his lips were on me again.

Surprisingly, it was a softer kiss. A warmer, more sober kiss that made me want to kiss him back. And in it's tenderness, it seemed all the more intimate. He pulled away slightly, his lips still hovering over my lips so that I could feel his 'goodnight' brush across them.

"Goodnight," I said too and tried to focus all of my brain power on making it down the stairs without tumbling. I ghosted my fingers over my lips, trying to think of reasons why I shouldn't be taken with Scott when I caught a sight that froze me in my tracks.

"What are you doing here?"

Standing on the curb was Patch, waiting with his hands in his pockets. He looked up as I approached hesitantly, almost reluctantly. His expression—like 80% of the time I had known Patch—was unreadable.

"I asked Vee if I could pick you up." Knowing Vee and her distaste for Patch, I kind of doubted she'd agree without much convincing . . . and Patch didn't beg.

"Why?" I wondered.

He didn't answer me right away, but when he did, his tone was indiscernible. "She told me who you were with."

I gave a little laugh. "Scott is harmless."

"I don't like him." He shrugged.

"Because he's nephilim?"

"Okay." Patch agreed as if that was sort of the answer.

I sighed off his worry. Scott really was harmless. "I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me."

"Yeah," He agreed thoughtfully. "I'm well aware."

I turned toward his Jeep. "You know, if you're gonna drive me around all the time, I'd be happy to hire you as my chauffeur. You can't get around much on foot in this town."

I looked up at him curiously as he dangled the keys to the jeep above my head. My eyebrows furrowed.

"What?"

"Take the jeep." He shrugged, like it was no big deal. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. This wasn't Oprah—you didn't just give away cars.

"Seriously?"

"No joke."

"Seriously?"

He gave me a look. "Nora,"

I looked from the car to him again. I shook my head. "You're not just gonna give me you car."

"But I am just giving you my car." He insisted, pushing the car keys at me.

"Why?"

"I won this car out of a pool game, Nora." He said dismissively, pushing the keys at me again. "Seriously, I'm not gonna miss it." I eyed him uncertainly, debating on taking him up on his offer or not. "Nora, take the car." Patch insisted some more, so I caved. Without hesitation, I snatched the cold metal out of his hand.