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She lay back, turning on her side to face me. I really hoped my breath wasn’t as bad as the taste inside my mouth.
“Your brother had a full car, so I offered to take you back with me to sleep it off.”
“Was I the worst one?” I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask.
“Um, no. Thad was in even worse shape than you. Sammie was the worst of all. She must weigh a hundred and ten soaking wet.”
“Poor Sammie.” I scrubbed my face with both hands. “Did I do anything embarrassing?”
“Not really.” She pushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her, exposing her neck. Such a pretty, graceful neck. “You were the life of the party, actually.”
“No, can’t be,” I said. “I’m never the life of the party.”
“Give you a few drinks and everything changes. You had the singer belting out Jimmy Buffet songs and organized the whole bar into a conga line.”
I groaned. A few images flashed before my eyes. Elliot had been in front of me. Her sweater had lifted, and I’d seen her tattoo. A dragonfly. “I might remember something about that.”
“You were awesome, actually. I haven’t laughed that much in a long time.”
Please, God, don’t let me have said something about how I felt about her. If I was organizing dance routines, who knows what other outrageous things came out of me?
“I’m glad you had fun,” I said. “I guess I did too?”
“There was one other little thing,” Elliot said. “And it was only drunk talk, so don’t worry. I am not taking it in any way seriously.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to continue.
“You said something about how you have a thing for me. This was after we were here at the motel.”
“Oh God, did I hit on you?”
She chuckled. “Not exactly. You more mumbled it as you were falling asleep.”
“You mean passing out?”
“Yes, right before you passed out, you said I was dangerous and that you couldn’t stop thinking about me and that my chocolate soufflé was really good.”
“I was talking about your soufflé?” What was wrong with me? This was why I hardly ever drank. The trouble one could get into was not worth the momentary high.
“A way to a pastry chef’s heart is to compliment her soufflé.” She smiled, reaching out as if to touch me but drawing back at the last moment. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to anything you said.”
“There was more?”
Her mouth twisted, as if she were deciding whether or not to tell me the rest. “You compared me to a truffle, rare and difficult to find. Also expensive.”
“Expensive? What did I mean by that?” As if she would know my addled, drunken thought process.
“I think you meant exceptional.” She grinned, bringing warmth into the room. “Which I loved to hear.”
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I’m an idiot.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “Don’t be. You were really cute.”
Cute? Great. That’s just what a guy wanted to hear.
“You’re definitely not an idiot,” she said. “In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing you unfettered. Everyone deserves some fun. Even you.”
“Still, please forgive me.”
