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Izzie stomps towards her bedroom—or as much as she can stomp in her drunken state.
She gets into the room and tries to close the door on my face, but I don’t let her.
“I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re safely tucked into bed,” I tell her.
She huffs at me. She goes to flop down on the bed, but I reach out and pull her back up to standing vertical.
“Not happening,” I say. “You need to change into pajamas or you’re going to be bitching in the morning about how uncomfortable you were.”
I walk over to her dresser and find a matching set of pajama shorts and tank top. I hand them over to her and nudge her in direction of the bathroom.
She finally listens to me; she knows I’m right.
Ten minutes go by, and I’m about to go make sure she hasn’t passed out in there when she finally comes out. Dressed in the pajamas—backwards, I might add—she walks over to the bed and climbs on top.
I walk over to lift the covers over her.
“Goodnight, Izzie,” I tell her before moving away.
She doesn’t give me a response. As I reach the door, I hear her soft snores.
Before closing the room behind me, I take one last glance at Izzie. She’s angelic while asleep; her features are soft and free of any concerns or tension.
I sigh.
Get out of here, Brady.
I close the door and head to my own room. I doubt if I can even fall asleep after replaying that kiss in my head over and over. If I do manage to sleep, I’m likely to dream about it.
It’s going to be a long night either way.
