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Chapter 21
Brady
I pull up into the driveway in front of my house.
Izzie is in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window while she traces random patterns on the glass. Every once in a while, she’ll giggle at what she sees she has drawn.
As I park the car, she releases another giggle. I chuckle under my breath. She’s completely wasted, and it’s cute and hilarious to witness.
I turn off the car and look at her. She has a look of extreme confusion on her face.
“Why did we stop moving?” she asks.
“Because we’re home, Izzie.”
“No. It takes longer than that, and this isn’t my house. It’s yours.”
Technically, she’s right but whatever. She’s living here right now so it’s her home too, for the time being.
“We’ve been driving for twenty minutes Izzie, and this is where you’re staying while your house gets worked on.”
She giggles uncontrollably. I can tell she isn’t going to stop so I hop out of the car and go around to her side.
I pop the door open, lean in the car, unbuckle her, and scoop her out of the seat into my arms. She squeals when my hand slides under her and bring her up to my chest. She gets even louder when we start walking up to the house.
“Hey! We’re moving again! See I was right. I feel like I’m flying right now,” she yells.
She’s adorable when she’s drunk.
I walk us up the pathway leading to the front door and place Izzie on her feet while I unlock the deadbolt. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she wobbles. Before she can fall on her ass, I grab her around the waist to steady her.
“Hold on to me, Izzie,” I tell her.
“Okay. I trust you, Brady. Don’t drop me, okay?”
She grips my waist and shirt as if her life depends on it. Whatever works as long as she doesn’t fall and hurt herself before I can get her upstairs and into her bed.
The door clicks open after unlocking it. I guide Izzie inside to the entry way and kick the door closed behind us.
“Who’s house is this?” she asks.
“It’s my house, Izzie. You know that. You’ve been staying here.”
“Right, right. Can you take me to bed? I’m a little dizzy,” she admits, leering at the stairs.
“Of course, Izzie.”
With the way she’s trying to not stumble over her own feet, it would probably be quicker for me to carry her upstairs. I bend down to do just that, but she stumbles backwards and buckles in her drunken state.
“I can walk myself Brady. I’m an independent woman who doesn’t need your help,” she states.
“Izzie, you just asked for help.”
“Shhhhhhhhhh!” she says, shoving a finger at my face.
I’m doing my best not to laugh. This is absolutely priceless.
She’s backed up all the way to the wall and is leaning back into it. I suspect if the wall wasn’t there, she would be sprawled out on the floor by now.
