8. No. 9 Let loose and get a little drunk #3
“Whatever I did that made you hate me.” She’s like Bambi in headlights, all round eyes, surprised and scared of the beast in front of her.
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything. I’m just an arsehole.”
“Yeah,” she agrees with a sigh and my mouth tips up.
“Let’s go.” I step away from her, giving us both a little breathing room, and she takes a couple smaller steps, testing her drunken feet. “You okay?”
“Yep,” she says, straightening her shoulders and moving toward me again before spinning too suddenly, making me reach out as if to catch her, but she manages to stay upright as she speaks to Eli. “Oh, I didn’t pay for my wine!”
He smiles at her with a wink. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll settle up another time, just get yourself feeling better.”
She grins at him a little dopily and turns back to me.
I’m thrown off a little when she grabs my arm for balance, and we walk out into the cool evening air together.
Darcy skips happily on my other side, his lead hanging loosely between us.
We walk in silence, kind of slowly as Bea’s strides are shorter than mine and she’s clearly concentrating very hard on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Eurgh, I’m starving,” she groans. “I want scrambled eggs.”
Okay, not sure what to say to that.
“I love scrambled eggs,” she sighs dreamily. “Sometimes I just eat them straight out of the pan, you know?”
I do not know.
“Maybe I should make some eggs,” she continues, unbothered by my lack of response. “I’m sure my jeans would just love that.”
“You think your jeans have emotions?” I ask sceptically.
“These ones do,” she grumbles. “They’re clearly spiteful little bitches…bitch? Plural?” She turns her head up to me in question, like I have any thought on the matter.
“Uh, here we are,” I say gruffly as we reach her front door.
“Ah, great,” she says with that same dozy smile. Her keys are in her hand, and I wait patiently as she takes several attempts to fit the largest one in the lock. She misses, several times. “Oh, bumfluff,” she huffs, and I almost bark out a surprised laugh at the idiotic curse word.
“Here,” I put my hand around hers on the key, feeling the smoothness of her skin under the roughness of mine and I help guide her to the lock.
I only realise I’m practically crowding her to the door, when she leans back and her head rests against my shoulder, her body an inviting warmth at my front and the smell of bubble gum coming from her hair.
“Thank you.” She sighs.
We get her door open and when she steps away, I feel oddly empty without her. Darcy, trots in behind her, stopping short when his lead pulls tight. “No, come on, we’re going home,” I tell him, but he just looks at me over his shoulder in stubborn denial.
Bea slips her shoes off, leaving her in socks, and starts up the stairs. The polished wood beneath her feet slippery, so she stumbles on the second step. I jolt to catch her before she falls and she just giggles. Jesus Christ.
“Up you go,” I command, dropping Darcy’s lead and following her, one hand lightly pressed to her back, ready to push forward should she lean too far back.
Her bedroom is just what I would have imagined, a kaleidoscope of colours and soft fabrics, girly things filling every available surface and artwork on all of the walls of what looked like knights or warriors or something…okay, that wasn’t quite what I’d imagined.
“Okay,” I say awkwardly. “Well, goodnight.”
“Thanks, August,” Bea says sleepily, falling onto her bed fully dressed. “You’re not so bad.”
I exhale quickly in something that could be taken as a laugh and turn to leave.
But then her quiet voice behind me says, “I’ll make the eggs in a minute.”
I take another glimpse of her atop the covers, curled up in a ball and smiling softly with her eyes closed.
There’s a glass beside her bed and before I really realise what I’m doing, I’m striding toward it and taking it to the adjoining bathroom, emptying out the old water, swishing it clean a couple of times before filling it and leaving it on the nightstand for her.
With a satisfied nod to myself that I’ve done enough to make sure she’s looked after, I head back down the stairs.
I’d left the door wide open where I’d jumped to save Bea. Luckily for me, my dog is too lazy to make a run for it. But I find him nestled on the small couch, curled up with a black cat standing over him, looking at him like he’s stolen the prime snoozing spot.
“Darcy,” I hiss. “Off.”
Darcy doesn’t even lift his head, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable on the velvet cushions.
Seeming to give up on glaring him down, the cat steps onto Darcy’s back and curls up right there on top of him.
I plant my hands on my hips and tip my head back.
Fucking dog. After a couple of breaths taken for patience, I look around the room like it might give me the answers of how to extract my dog from this place but instead, my eyes land on the stove and the box of eggs next to it and I know what I have to do.