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“I’m not drunk,” she repeats and I have to laugh at her vehemence. “I’m just really embarrassed.” Her wide mouth curves in a wan smile. “I’d like to go hide in a corner now.”
“Nope.” Reluctantly, I slide my arm from around her waist and take her hand—warm and soft and small in mine. “Best thing to do is have a laugh about it.”
“I’ll laugh in the morning. Because I’ll remember it. I remember everything.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Let’s go have a drink to help you forget.”
I lead her up the stairs to the VIP section overlooking the dance floor. Grayson is visible down below, trying to impress his girl with his dance moves. By the way she’s laughing, I’m not sure it’s working.
Fiona crawls into one of the booths and slumps back against the pink vinyl with her eyes closed.
“You okay?”
She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. “Again—I told you, I’m not that drunk.”
“I meant from earlier. My sister lost me once when we were at Coachella, and kind of freaked out. I wondered if that was the same kind of thing.”
Fiona stares at me in shock; either from what I said or because I slid into the booth beside her. “Oh.”
“The way you looked, I thought maybe...”
She leans over to touch her forehead to the table. “And now my humiliation is complete.”
“I didn’t mean anything, I just thought—”
“You don’t have to mean anything. Mase Stirling just found me in the men’s room and, before that, caught me at the onset of a panic attack. Not my best moment. Not any woman’s best moment.”
The way she says my name has none of the reverence I’m used to. It’s more… scornful.
I’m not used to that.
“It shouldn’t matter ifIfound you,” I say awkwardly. Fiona’s laugh touches on hysterical, which makes me a little nervous. “Do you want to go down and check in with Bexley?”
“I want to stay here and hide my face and forget all about the last ten minutes. You go,” she adds in a voice that suggests I should really go.
But I don’t.
“I’m good to hang here. Want something to drink, since you’re not drunk?” I glance around for the waitress.
Fiona tips up her chin. “And thank you for finally agreeing with me. I am thirsty. I’m not good with straight vodka, though.” She makes a face like she’s sucking a lemon, and I laugh.
“I guess not if you look like that. What have you been drinking tonight?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Which is exactly what a drunk person would say.”
To my surprise, Fiona laughs. It’s a pretty laugh. It suits her. “True. I’m better with champagne or an Alabama Slammer.”
“What is that?”
“Amaretto and gin. It’s red, so the girl said it was allowed. It’s sweet. I like sweet.”
“You’re sweet,” I say automatically, smile on high. “I like that.”
Fiona’s response is an exaggerated blink. “Oh, wow, are you flirting with me?”
But the way she says it suggests it’s not a good thing. “If you want me to be...sure...”
