Page 90 of Alaric

“You think the cops are gonna test you for walking your dog?” he asked, trying not to laugh at me.

“She’s gonna know I’m drunk,” I said, shaking my head.

“Don’t worry, she’ll still love you,” he told me. “How about we do this?” he asked, then reached down to scoop me up into his arms.

“Weeee!” I cheered even as the whole room spun.

“Oh, get that hunnie home,” Eddie said, laughing at my reaction. “Here. Make her drink this,” he said, placing a bottled electrolyte drink on my chest.

“See? He wants me to drown,” I told Alaric.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, smile stretching enough to create little crinkles by his eyes.

I couldn’t stop myself from reaching up, running my fingers over them.

“You’re kind of pretty, you know that?” I asked.

I thought I was whispering, but judging by the girls we passed who laughed, I guess I’d yelled it.

“You’re prettier,” he countered.

“Nuh-uh. You are. I’ve read books about guys with faces like this,” I said, tracing my finger along his jaw.

“What kind of books?” he asked, his smirk telling me he knew exactly what kind of books.

“None of your business,” I declared, starting to press kisses down his jaw, then his neck. Finding his pulse there, I let my tongue tease out and move over it.

A rumbling sound moved through him.

“Stop,” he demanded, voice tight.

“Why?” I asked, reaching up to slip my fingers into his hair, knowing he loved that.

“You know why,” he said, glancing down at me as we got beside the car, and he lowered me onto my feet.

“Is that a problem?” I asked, my hand shamelessly teasing down his chest, then stomach, and boldly cupping his crotch over his jeans, making him tilt his head to the skies, looking for some self-control.

“Yes,” he said finally. Albeit unconvincingly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re fucking wasted, baby,” he said, smiling at me.

“That’s okay. I consent,” I said, trying to slip my hand into his waistband.

“You can’t,” he countered, grabbing my hand, and moving it away before pulling open the door, and nudging me inside. “Don’t sulk,” he demanded as we started to drive.

“I’m not sulking.”

“You are,” he countered, shooting me a smirk.

“It’s not like I’m a stranger,” I reasoned, turning in my seat.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, determined to be a good, upstanding guy.

Damn him.

“But you can take care of yourself when we get home,” he offered.

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