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“You’re not walking,” my brother counters. “I can run Blair home, and then come back for—”
“I can make sure Hallie gets home.”
My eyes narrow as I slowly turn to face the owner of that voice. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. It’s only a few blocks,” I contend, swaying just a touch on my tired feet.
“Don’t argue. I’ll make sure she gets home,” Logan maintains, wrapping his hand around my waist. The contact, despite being through my dress, sizzles against my already-flushed skin. It makes me wonder if a little contact in other places would burn just as fiercely. You know, his fingers…maybe his tongue…
Yep. Time to stop drinking.
“Whatever,” I grumble, determined to slip out before Logan has a chance to be a hero and escort me home.
I give my brother and future sister-in-law a hug and send them on their way, secretly hoping she really is pregnant, before turning my attention to the backyard mess. Logan, Brody, and Morgan have already started throwing plates and empty cups and cans in the trash, so I grab a half-empty bottle of sweet white wine and take a big swig straight out of it.
I’m not usually a big drinker. I enjoy the occasional drinks with friends or a glass of wine at the end of a hard day, but I’m not big on getting this intoxicated. I hate throwing up, for one, and two, I despise hangovers. They’re the absolute worst. The nausea, the pounding headache, the sensitivity to light and smell, let alone the undeniable urge to lie around all day on the couch, forgoing any and all basic chores like laundry, grocery shopping, or dishes.
You know, things most people spend their Sunday doing.
I carefully make my way over to where the DJ was set up, and even though he’s starting to tear down his equipment, the music is still playing softly. With the bottle of wine still in my hand, I let the beat of the song move me, swaying my hips to the rhythm. I know I should be helping clean up, but sometimes you just need to dance. With my eyes closed, I focus on the way the music sweeps through me, the warm breeze rustles my dress, and the cool grass tickles my bare feet. But it’s more than that.
I feel…free.
Free to move, to laugh, to cry, to love. Free to do whatever the hell I want to do, and it’s the greatest feeling in the world.
I can feel his presence, his warmth, before anything else. Logan’s behind me. Spinning around, I move too fast and stumble forward, essentially throwing myself at him. He catches me easily in his strong, muscular arms, and even though I’d never admit this out loud, it’s not the first time I’ve thought about these very arms wrapped around me.
A giggle spills from my lips, and I almost drop the bottle of wine. “Oops.”
There’s humor dancing in his dark chocolate eyes, and suddenly, the urge to kiss him again is so strong, it’s practically a living breathing entity between us. “Are you ready?” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my forehead.
The alcohol makes my brain a little foggy. “Ready?”
“To go home,” he replies, the corners of his kissable lips curling upward.
“Home?”
Now, he smiles widely, showing off his perfectly straight pearly whites. “Yes, home, Cupcake. I’ll drive you.”
“But we have to finish cleaning up,” I insist, turning and looking at the empty, clean backyard. Somehow, between my dancing and my…well, dancing, they managed to pick up the entire space, turn off the twinkle lights hanging from the trees, and help the DJ get all his equipment into his truck.
“It’s taken care of. We’ll come back in the morning and take down all the lights and return the tables and chairs to the church. Brody and Morgan just went inside to go to bed, so all that’s left is to take you home.”
Take you home.
I really need to ignore the way my body hums with anticipation and my nipples pebble against my strapless bra right now.
He continues to watch me, and when I don’t say anything, he adds, “Do you have anything inside you need to get?”
Shaking my head, I confirm, “I don’t think so. My purse and bag are in my car already.”
“And your phone?” he asks, glancing down at my waist, as if trying to figure out where I’ve been hiding the device all night.
“Oh, uh…I don’t know.” Where is my phone? When was the last time I saw it?
“It’s okay, Hal. We’ll find it,” he says, pulling me into his side and escorting me through the yard and toward the driveway.
I don’t sway as much, thanks to his hold on me, and it isn’t until we reach the sidewalk that it hits me, I’m not wearing shoes. The sooner I get inside my Jeep Cherokee, the better. We move to the passenger side door, but when Logan goes to open it, it doesn’t budge.
“Uhh, Cupcake? Where’s your keys?”
