12. Conrad #3
“I’m excellent,” I informed her, though she didn’t seem convinced.
“I’m having depth perception issues,” I admitted after a beat.
“That tends to happen when you’ve had as much to drink as you have tonight.”
“Holy hell. I haven’t been drunk in years.” The words slipped out before I thought better of them.
A sudden, quiet empathy anchored Winnie’s gaze, though thankfully not into pity. “When was the last time?”
I rubbed one hand over my face. “Probably… the first month after Jade died.”
Her grip on my arm tightened slightly. “Then perhaps tonight was overdue.”
The thing was, I didn’t even feel bad. Embarrassed, maybe. Perhaps a little loose around the edges. Most definitely overly affectionate toward jazz musicians. But not bad.
Winnie drove us home in my car because there was absolutely no universe where I was fit to operate a vehicle. I offered exactly one protest before she leveled me with a stern look and said, “Conrad.”
I handed over the keys immediately.
The ride home blurred pleasantly. City lights passed by the windows, strangely distorted. My eyes drifted to Winnie’s hands on the steering wheel. Her beautiful, pale, sexy hands.
Fuck.
“You’re very pretty,” I informed her.
Winnie sighed without sounding particularly displeased. “You already mentioned that several times.”
“I mean it every time.”
“That’s both flattering and dangerous.”
“I’m dangerous.”
She laughed at that. “Conrad, you are the furthest thing from dangerous. You apologize when you bump into furniture.”
By the time we pulled into the driveway, I’d entered the deeply sincere stage of drunkenness where emotions were very close to the surface and at risk of spilling out.
The house was dark except for the lamp in the foyer window.
Winnie cut the engine and glanced toward me carefully. “How are we feeling?”
“I think I forgot my legs at the speakeasy.”
She came around the car before I could object and steadied me when I climbed out. To my credit, I only stumbled a little. To Winnie’s credit, she somehow managed not to laugh in my face.
The front door opened before we reached it. Lady Ferdinand stood there in a white shawl with a book tucked beneath one arm. “Well,” she said, taking one look at me. “Someone had fun tonight.”
“I’m sho… sophish… sophisticated,” I said.
“You’re swaying.”
Winnie pressed her lips together. I realized then—through the pleasant fog of alcohol—that she’d positioned herself slightly between me and Lady Ferdinand.
Protectively. Trying to save me from embarrassment.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Her eyes flicked toward mine briefly, filled with warmth and understanding. “I’ll take it from here,” she told Lady Ferdinand gently.
The playful mischief in Lady Ferdinand’s posture dissolved. “Of course, dear.”
Then, to my immense horror, she leaned closer to Winnie and stage-whispered, “He likes you very much.”
“Lady Ferdinand,” I groaned.
Winnie looked far too amused. “I gathered as much,” she replied politely.
Traitors. Both of them.
Lady Ferdinand walked past us to her waiting driver in the driveway, still looking unbearably pleased with herself while Winnie guided me inside.
Meanwhile, my drunk brain tried to figure out if her driver had stayed the whole time or had conveniently showed up at the perfect time.
And furthermore, was the moon staring at me?
The house felt impossibly quiet after the speakeasy.
We made it exactly halfway to the stairs before I caught my foot on absolutely nothing and stumbled forward. Winnie grabbed both my arms to keep me upright.
“I think the alcohol went straight to your legs,” she said.
“I underestimated the severity.”
Winnie shook her head fondly, and we climbed the stairs slowly after that. Or rather, Winnie climbed the stairs normally while I attempted to ascend with dignity and failed repeatedly.
At one point, the step creaked loudly beneath me and we both froze. From upstairs, Billie mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep. We waited.
Silence.
Winnie leaned closer and whispered, “Stealth mission.”
That shouldn’t have been funny. Unfortunately, it absolutely was in my current state. I started laughing and had to press one hand over my mouth while Winnie unsuccessfully tried not to laugh, too.
“You’re making this worse,” she hissed through visible amusement.
“I’m emotionally compromised.”
“Yes. That’s becoming increasingly apparent.”
When we reached my bedroom, I was breathing harder from laughter than actual exertion.
“This is humiliating,” I informed her as I collapsed onto the bed.
“You’re doing wonderfully.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“Yes,” she agreed calmly.
God, I adored her.
I stared at the floor for a second, taking in the truth of the thought. Well. That was inconvenient.
Winnie disappeared briefly into the bathroom before returning with water and aspirin. “Here.”
I obediently took both.
“You’re suspiciously good at this,” I whispered.
She smiled. Without the chaos of the club around us, without music or crowds or drinks, she was quieter again. Not closed off. Just mellowed.
She turned toward the door after a moment. “You should sleep.”
Panic arrived unexpectedly fast; I didn’t want the night to end. Before I could think better of it, I reached out and caught her hand lightly.
“I’d…” My throat felt strangely tight suddenly despite the alcohol. “I’d love to talk for a while… if you don’t mind.”
Her gaze softened. “All right.” She sat beside me, tucking one leg under her. She was so close I could smell her perfume beneath the lingering scent of bourbon and smoke from the club.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked.
And because I was drunk and tired and emotionally stripped down to exposed wiring, I said the truth. “Jade.”
Winnie smiled gently as she smoothed the sheet with her hands. “Tell me about her.”