Page 94 of Worth Loving You

“I’m…drunk.”

Holding her hips, I guided her to a chair and sat her down. Squatting, I unfastened the straps on her heels and took them off. Last thing I needed was for her to break a bone because she couldn’t walk properly in those things. Milo would be pissed.

Going to the coffee pot, I got the carafe, filled it with water, and poured it into the back. Then I opened the cabinet, got the coffee and a filter.

“What are you doing?”

I glanced over my shoulder and chuckled. Both her elbows were on the surface, her fists on her cheeks. Her chin was gradually lowering, though, pushing the skin up, her mouth opened, her lips pulling around her upper teeth.

“Making coffee. You need to sober up a little bit before you go to sleep.” I closed the lid, tapped the button, and turned to face her.

She was staring at me, slow blinking. “Did you have fun tonight?”

My chin slightly tucked inward with a nasally chuckle. Folding my arms, I crossed my ankles, propping my foot on the toe of my shoe. “Actually, yeah. I did.”

One hand slapped to the counter to point at me. “You…need to enjoy life more. You never have fun. That’s your problem, you just…” She sighed. “Too serious.”

With a sharp sniff through my nose, I coughed and lowered my focus to the floor. There was probably some truth in that. Because of how I was raised, I never did get the opportunities others took for granted. There was no time for fun when I have been responsible for another man’s life for thirty-five of my forty years of life.

Those first five years, however, were pretty cool. I couldn’t recall exact memories because I was too young, but I got the feeling I was a little carefree once upon a time.

Tonight had been entertaining. Once she loosened up with a couple more drinks, forgot her inhibitions, and really started dancing, the night had turned rather pleasant. I even laughed a few times.

The coffee maker spit steam out the top, releasing the refreshing aroma to the air. Shifting my weight, I opened the cabinet to get a couple mugs. Chastity slid off her stool and wobbled to the fridge. When the seal on the door released, she yelped, her body lurching backwards.

My heart skipping, I flung myself at her, catching her before she fell to the floor. “Sit down, I got this.”

“I…I can help. I’m not helpless.”

“No, but you’re drunk.”

Scrunching her face, she flipped her wrist. On both feet again, she pulled the thin carton of creamer from the door. Removing the cap, she took a sip.

“Oh, god, what are you doing?”

“Mm, milk.”

“No, creamer. That’s…” My features twisted with disgust. “No, kitten. That’s gonna make you sick with all that booze.”

I tried to take it from her, but she lost her balance again. With a stifled shriek, she fell against me, crushing the container so the liquid squirted over the front of my shirt.

“Look what you did!” she whispered, her lids rounded.

“Shit.”

Closing the fridge, I led her back to the chair. Tossing the now half empty container on the counter, I snatched a dishrag and wiped at myself. Another muted curse slipped past my mouth as I unbuttoned the shirt and shrugged it off.

I went to the foyer and opened the laundry closet, tossing the garment in the washing machine. Pressing the buttons to only add water and let it soak, I returned to the kitchen, wet the rag, and cleaned the stickiness off my chest.

She was leaning into an elbow again, one side of her face pushed up to open her mouth. She was watching me, her sight raking over my torso.

Pausing, my head tipped to look at her.

“When did you get your first tattoo?”

With a few more swipes of the rag, I tossed it to the back of the sink and poured us coffee, adding the right amount of creamer to hers. Getting a spoon from the drawer, I stirred it and said, “I think I was about fourteen or fifteen. I’m not sure.”

“Which one?”