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I go to hop to the floor, and Colter has to catch me when I stumble. My cheeks get hot, and I don’t meet his eyes. This could not be any more embarrassing.
Colter’s hand waves to the group at the other end of the bar, no doubt staring at us, and I get the courage to look up at him. He doesn’t even look tired. He looks fucking perfect. I rake my eyes over his face, searing every pronounced feature into my mind. His stubble, his strong jaw, his jet-black hair that will forever label him a Gruco.
And those eyes. Those seafoam green eyes. Jesus. It takes me a few seconds while I study his irises to realize he’s moved his gaze from the other people in the bar and is now staring right at me.
Getting caught staring like an idiot makes me want to hide underneath the bar. But Colter doesn’t have that smirk playing on his face that I’m used to. His eyes are soft. Cold, but soft. And they move to my lips and linger there.
My lips tingle, and suddenly every nerve ending in them fires, all saying the same thing.
Kiss me.
My stomach doesn’t feel the same.
All at once, a wave of nausea crashes down on me. Bile rises up my throat, and I don’t even have enough time to cover a hand over my mouth before approximately three vodka tonics are hurling from my mouth onto the floor, some splashing on his shoes and pants.
My fingers grasp his shirt sleeve, and I take a breath before looking up at him in horror. He’s staring down at the floor, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised.
I jump back from him and cover a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. I am so sorry.”
“Are you all right, honey?” Margie appears by my side with a towel in her hand. She tosses it to Colter, and he hands it to me so I can wipe my face. I don’t have the courage to try and gauge what he must be thinking. How disgusted he must be.
Fuck I need to be home.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry Margie. Do you have a mop? I can clean this up.”
She tilts her head like she has no idea what I just said, and I question just how wobbly my words are.
Colter drops the towel and uses his foot to begin mopping up the floor.
“I’ve got it,” Margie says, placing a hand on my back and rubbing in circles. “Get Abi home.”
Colter nods and grabs my shoulders. “Sorry about this,” he says to Margie as he turns me and starts guiding me toward the door. The bar spins and my feet feel like jello.
“Don’t worry about it, you two come back soon. Feel better, honey!” Margie’s words hit my back, and Colter drapes his jacket over me before leading us to his car. I don’t look at him when he helps me into the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt for me. I close my eyes and don’t dare open them the whole drive to my apartment building, even though I’m not asleep. I slouch and curl up toward the passenger window as if I am, and I must be convincing because Colter doesn’t say anything.
When the car stops and Colter’s door opens, I drop the charade and unbuckle my seatbelt, my hands less coordinated than usual.
My door opens, and I wave Colter off when he tries to help me out. He takes a step back and waits.
It takes every bit of focus I have, but I manage to climb out of the car and stand without toppling over. “Thanks for the ride,” I mumble, looking at him for the first time since leaving the bar. I expect anger or at least annoyance to be written in his features, but it’s just concern. Maybe I pegged him wrong. Maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as I thought.
Maybe he’s not Devin.
I shake off the line of thinking before it can go much further and then I try to get past Colter, but his hand presses on my shoulder to stop me.
“You don’t actually think I’m going to leave without making sure you get inside your apartment okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say as assuredly as I can. “Jesus, have you never been drunk before? Look,” I walk a few steps with as much precision as possible, regretting the red pumps I chose to wear tonight with every fiber of my being. “See?” I throw my hands up at my sides a little too quickly and stumble.
Colter jumps forward to catch me, and then shakes his head before urging me toward the building. “It isn’t up for discussion.”
He mumbles something about the part of town I live in and helps me through the door of the building. There’s a front desk in my building, but no one ever seems to be there. It’s a prop, and if I had to guess, I’d say the security camera above the front entrance is for show as well.
We take the elevator to my floor, and when we stand outside my door, I fumble in my purse for my keys. As if I’m not humiliated enough, Colter takes my purse from me and grabs the keys from it, turning the lock and throwing open the door. He helps me into the apartment, flicking on the light behind me.
My eyes move between the bedroom and the couch, the bedroom seemingly a thousand miles away. I crash on the couch and lay the back of my hand over my eyes.
There’s some rummaging in my bathroom, and the sink turns on a minute later. I want Colter to leave, but I can’t bring myself to ask him to. He could rifle through my panty drawer and steal my TV, and I wouldn’t say a thing at this point.
