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I motion for someone to pass me the bottle so I can top myself off.
Sophia frowns, but she hands it over. She’s probably aware of the same thing I am: I’m not a heavy drinker. It’s not part of my normal routine. Ope! There’s that word again—routine! Can’t wake up and run nine miles if I’ve had a bunch of wine the night before! Can’t carry out all my perfectionist tendencies if I’m slurring my words! My routine can kiss my ass. Tonight, it’s just me and this lovely sauvignon blanc.
Down the table, Grant says something to Dustin, and my body instinctively takes note. Why does he do that to me?! Why does he get to have that much control over my body?! I don’t shiver when Nick or Dustin or Josh talk. Hell, I don’t even listen to them half the time. But Grant could whisper something a mile away and my ears would prick like, What now?
I’m doomed.
Or…maybe not.
“Will someone tell Grant he doesn’t have to ignore me?”
The words slip out of their own accord.
The table goes dead silent. Every head swings in Grant’s direction, then to me, then back to Grant.
His heady gaze captures mine, and he has the audacity to look amused. God, he’s handsome tonight. Miserably beautiful.
“Oh you can look at me! That’s good, because I have a lot to say to you.”
Nick’s grinning from ear to ear. Everyone else looks like they’re watching a slow-motion car wreck as I continue, “I just think it’s funny how much you say you want me, but where’s the fight?” I demand, sounding angrier by the second. “Where’s the conviction? You haven’t even reached out to me all week!”
“Tate…” Dustin is trying to warn me.
Too late.
“Don’t stick up for him, Dustin!”
I want Grant to slam his fist on the table, shatter his beer glass, throw his hands up, curse…I want him to get angry like I’m angry.
His composure only riles me up more. He’s dignified and I’m crazed.
With an air of coolness, he slowly pushes his chair back and circles the table to come for me.
I gulp as he tugs my chair out. “Up. Let’s go.”
“I’m not done here,” I protest. “Not with my drink or this discussion. You just let Michael kiss me! Michael! I don’t want Michael!”
I reach for the wine glass, but Dustin lifts it up before I can get it. Then Grant hooks his hands underneath my armpits and lifts me up despite my protests.
Oh. Okay.
We’re leaving.
“My roommates can get me home just fine, thank you very much.”
I look at them expectantly, but neither of them volunteers. Just great.
They’re abandoning me. It seems loyalty is dead these days.
“I have plans to go out,” Daphne explains.
“Yeah, same,” Sophia says, sounding completely put out. “I was going to go to Josh’s…”
“Fine then, forget both of you. I can get home fine. Watch.” I turn toward the street and whistle as loud as I can. Then I wave my hand up over my head like a seasoned New Yorker. “Taxi! Taxi!”
Long seconds pass and nary a taxi arrives. No cars even. In fact, if we were in a desert, a tumbleweed would roll by nice and slow, coming to a standstill right in front of me.
Okay. Not a great start.
“Well, never mind. That’s why they have apps! I’m just going to request an Uber right now and it’ll be here before you know it.”
My phone is yanked out of my hands before I can get the app open. Grant towers over me, holding my phone up out of reach. I arch a brow then jump up to try to take it from him.
He doesn’t let me.
“Ha ha. I get it—you’re tall. Now hand me my phone.”
I jut my hip out and hold my palm up impatiently.
He doesn’t comply. Instead, he slips my phone into his back pocket, takes my shoulders in his sturdy grip, and pivots me around. Then he points over my shoulder, speaking low, so I feel his words cascade down my back.
“You live two blocks that way, Tate. No Uber needed. Now let’s go. March.”
“Are you serious? Do you guys see how bossy he is?”
But when I turn to the group for backup, they’re all looking away like they don’t even know us. In fact, Nick’s whistling a cheery little tune! It seems they’re all siding with Grant on this.
Fine.
“Let’s go,” he prods. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”
He thinks I’ll make a big stink about this, but instead I fling my arms out wide. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, buddy boy.” I start to tip back in a trust fall…
So that’s how I end up getting a piggyback ride from Grant down the streets of New York City at midnight. In this position, with little ol’ me riding along on his back, I get full access to his bangin’ body, and you know what? I go for it. I rub his biceps and get a good feel for their size (big), I tiptoe my fingers along his sloping shoulder muscles (ooh la la), and then I even wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze like, Mwahaha finally, here’s my chance to kill you.
