Epilogue
RIDGE
“ So I can't drive anymore,” Lyla says to Anne, the two girls falling into a fit of giggles. “I totally only meant to have one, but I think I'm on number three?”
“We can take you home,” Jim says, who, like myself, has stuck to only water tonight. Jim invited me to the little impromptu celebration for Zoe’s new guy, and I never miss an opportunity to get out of Sweet Water.
“No, I don't want you guys to have to leave now,” Lyla says, the cutest little wrinkle forming between her brows. “But I'm totally ready to go. I'll just call a Lyft.”
“I'll take you home,” I say before I even realize the words are coming out of my mouth. I rise from my chair, sticking close to her because I’m worried she'll top over any moment.
Lyla laughs, letting her phone fall back into her purse. “Seriously?” she asks, turning and swaying slightly on her feet as she looks up at me.
My arms fly to either side of her, not touching her, but ready to catch her.
“Mr. Sour Pants wants to drive me home?”
I furrow my brow. “Did you just call me sour pants?”
“ Mr . Sour Pants,” she says with emphasis.
Jim laughs from where he sits behind Lyla, and I glance down, giving him a warning look. He keeps on laughing, and Anne joins in.
I wave the two off, and then nod to Brad and Luna who are chatting in the corner, Zoe and her new guy having disappeared a half hour ago. “Come on,” I say to Lyla, guiding her toward the stairs. “Let me take you home.”
By some sort of miracle, she follows my lead, glancing over her shoulder to wave at her friends.
“Mr. Sour Pants is taking me home!” she says a little loud and a little wild, just enough to make my normal straight face demeanor slip into a smile.
She wobbles on the first stair, and I immediately tuck an arm around her hip, steadying her as we walk down, through the throngs of people in the club, and finally through the front doors.
“Are you going to criticize my food all the way home?” she asks as I hold the passenger door of my car open for her.
I shake my head, helping settle her into the passenger seat, securing her seat belt when she struggles.
I gently close the door, huffing out a laugh as I round the car and get behind the wheel, starting the drive home.
“You know we're going to have to see a lot of each other now,” she says, her buzzed tone so much more apparent now that there's no music blaring around us.
The woman is absolutely wasted, but it's adorable as hell. She’s usually so reserved, unless she's snapping at me for saying something about her food, which I only do because she gets this fire in her eyes like she's lighting up on Christmas morning.
“Is that right?” I ask as I navigate the highway toward home.
“Yep,” she says, her perfect pink lips popping on the P .
I do my best to keep my eyes on the road, no matter how tempted I am to look over at her. She's gorgeous, all fiery spirit contained in a tiny, irresistible delicate package. Smooth skin, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that have starred in more than one of my favorite dreams lately.
“If we're going to have to plan and host a lot of the prenuptials for Anne and Jim, we're going to have to work together,” she continues. “Are you going to be able to spend so much time with someone you hate?”
Her words bring me up short.
“I don't hate you,” I say, shock drenching my tone, and I spare a quick glance, furrowing my brow at her. Her eyes are closed in what looks like an immediate and necessary power nap.
I shake my head, wondering how she could think that I hate her?
Okay, fuck me, I know I'm a grumpy asshole on the best of days, but people annoy me. There's only a handful of people I can stand, and she's one of them.
I put my eyes back on the road, searching for the right words to explain to her that I'm not always trying to be a dick?—
“I think about your tattoos a lot,” she blurts, causing me to jolt a little at her sudden alertness. I hold back a laugh. She looks like she doesn’t even know she fell asleep.
I exit off the highway, heading back into Sweet Water and making the turn down her street.
“Like this one,” she continues, reaching across the car and running her fingers down the black inked tree that coils around my right forearm. “Does it mean anything or do you just like trees?”
Sparks burst beneath her touch, her fingers as silky soft as I've always imagined.
“I'll tell you when you're sober,” I say as I turn into her driveway, parking and killing the ignition as I get out of the car to open her door for her.
I reach for her, helping her out of the car. “I'm sorry I got out of hand,” she says, her lips shaping the saddest little pout I've ever seen as she leans heavily against me.
“Fuck that,” I say, slipping my arm around her hip and guiding her to her door. “You're never out of hand, Lyla,” I continue. “Now give me your keys.”
She digs in her purse before handing me her keys, her eyes fluttering open and closed as she leans against me. “No, I definitely got out of hand. I shouldn't have had so much to drink. I don’t normally. I haven’t had a night off in months though.”
“You're allowed to have fun,” I assure her, unlocking her door and swinging it open before I swipe an arm beneath her knees and cradle her to my chest. “You're free to do whatever the fuck you want and anyone who says otherwise is an asshole.”
I walk us into her house, kicking the door shut behind us before I linger in the hallway.
She looks up at me with wide eyes, her arms around my neck. “Really?”
“Really,” I say. “Now, where's your bedroom?”
A beautiful flush dances over her cheeks and she visibly swallows before pointing toward the stairs. “Up and first one on the right.”
I'm surprised the little vixen doesn't sass me for carrying her up the stairs, but I imagine she's a little bit too inebriated to hang on to that fire she normally reserves just for me.
I effortlessly climb the stairs with her in my arms before turning into her bedroom. I need to get her safely into her bed before I can grab her some much-needed water and make sure she's okay before I get the hell out of here.
“I want you to tattoo me someday,” she says, shocking the hell out of me. I freeze two steps away from her bed. I turn my head to look down at her, lips parted?—
Her mouth crashes against mine, the kiss hot and needy and completely uninhibited. My eyes close automatically, and I hold her just a little bit closer as I return the kiss before coming to my fucking senses.
I draw back, chiding myself for returning the kiss when she's so drunk.
“Whoops,” she says, and bursts into a fit of giggles, her forehead dipping against my chest as she laughs.
Her laughter abruptly cuts off and she wiggles in my arms.
“Put me down. Now ,” she demands.
I gently set her on her feet, and she races through her bedroom, disappearing behind a door—what I can only assume is her bathroom.
Ten seconds later I hear her getting sick.
I hiss, shaking my head before going back downstairs, raiding her fridge and thankfully finding a Gatorade. I grab a water bottle too, and head back up the stairs. Setting the items down on the nightstand next to her bed.
“Lyla,” I say through her closed bathroom door. “Can I come in?”
“No,” she says. “I'm mortified. Go away.” She mumbles the words and I hear the sounds of her toothbrush running as she brushes her teeth.
“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” I assure her. “I can't just go away when I know you're sick. Can I please come in?”
“Ugh, fine,” she groans. “I can't get my stupid jacket off.”
I open the door, entering the bathroom timidly, doing my best to bite back a laugh when I see her struggling to get out of her jacket. I don't know how she's able to make looking angry as hell so damn adorable, but she does.
I move over to her, tugging on the fabric that's giving her trouble until her arms are free.
“Thank you,” she sighs, walking to her shower and turning on the water.
Heat spikes my blood at the idea of her climbing into that shower, but I keep my shit in check. She's in no condition for me to be thinking about her like that.
I move past her, double-checking the water temperature, and then whirl around when she starts getting undressed right there.
“Jesus, woman,” I groan.
“Oh, please,” she chides from behind me. “It's not like you haven't seen a thousand women’s bodies before,” she says. “I'm sure mine isn't even memorable. And I need to get into the shower like now .”
“Definitely memorable, and definitely not a thousand,” I grumble, staying right the fuck where I'm at. She may act like she doesn't give a shit now, but come morning, I know she’ll care, and luckily, I’d barely got a peek before she started sliding off her shirt.
“I need your hand,” she says, and I swear my jaw almost comes unhinged, my mouth falls open so fast.
“I'm afraid if I step into the shower on my own, I'm going to fall over,” she clarifies, and I lock it the fuck up, extending my hand backward, allowing her to use it to steady herself to get into the shower.
Once I hear the curtain close, I blow out a breath.
“Just let me know when you're done, and I'll close my eyes and help you out. I'm going to sit right here and wait for you,” I say, closing the toilet lid and taking a seat.
She giggles behind the curtain. “Never thought it'd be you helping me into the shower,” she says from behind the curtain. “I mean, helping me in the shower…I've had that dream a lot, but not like this. So freaking mortifying,” she says, almost like she's talking to herself.
It’s all I can do to hold back my laugh.
Wait, she's dreamed about me and her in the shower?
The water shuts off, quickly killing that thought, and I clench my eyes shut before I hear the curtain swing open.
Her wet hand braces against my extended arm, and she safely steps out, hurrying to get dressed.
“Okay, you can open them,” she says, and I open my eyes to see just how damn tiny she is compared to me. Without heels on, she barely comes up to my chest, and she looks cute as hell in her white shorts and T-shirt pajama combo.
I don't hesitate to follow her out of the bathroom, happy she's a little steadier on her feet as she makes it to her bed, climbing under the covers as she leans against her headboard.
She eyes the Gatorade I left open there, immediately bringing it to her lips and taking several deep swallows. She sighs after a few minutes, glancing at where I linger across her room. “Thank you for this,” she says, her eyes hanging just a bit heavier.
“Keep drinking that for me before you fall asleep,” I say, and move to the arm chair in the corner of her room, taking a seat.
“What are you doing?” she asks in between sips of Gatorade.
“Good girl,” I say out loud, nearly punching myself for the slip of my tongue. But she did as she was told, and that deserves some praise.
Her eyes flare, her lips parting for a few moments before she takes another drink.
“I'm sitting here just in case you get sick again.”
She finishes off the Gatorade, and then takes a few sips of water. “You don't have to,” she says, shifting lower in her bed, leaning against her pillows. Her eyes still on me. “I'm so sorry. I seriously didn't mean to get sick.”
“Why are you apologizing for getting sick?”
“I'm just sorry,” she says, her eyes drifting closed. “I'm feeling better. You don't have to stay.”
“I'm not just going leave you like this.”
Another soft laugh tumbles from her lips, but her eyes remain closed where she lays against her pillows. “Well, then you don't have to stay in the chair,” she says, lightly tapping the side of the bed next to her.
All my muscles lock up at the invitation, and for as many times as I’ve fantasized about Lyla inviting me into her bed, it certainly wasn’t under these circumstances.
The cutest, softest snore rumbles from her after a few seconds, and I relax deeper into the chair.
I lean my head back against the chair, settling in for the night. “I'm not going anywhere.”
THE END
Thank you so much for reading!
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