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“Sutton, you know I love you, right? You’re my BFF, my work wifey, the peanut butter to my jelly,” Max started, failing to respond to my concern about her Hulk-like hand strength. “Here’s the thing: As I mentioned on our first forced trip to the bathroom, I feel like I have a real chance to close the deal with Richard. But I can’t do that from your apartment where I presume I’ll spend the rest of the night holding your hair while you puke.”
“I’m not even drunk,” I mumbled.Hiccup. “That drunk.”
“But I also can’t let you take a rideshare home alone. Do you see my dilemma here?” She waited for me to nod reluctantly before continuing. “Thankfully, there’s a very attractive, very well-dressed third option.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “You want me to take Holden up on his offer to drive me home so you can get Dick’s dick, don’t you?”
“He’s a partner, Sutton. Apartner.”
“Fine,” I relented. “I’ll take one for the team since you gave up your Saturday evening to come to this thing with me.” I turned to check out the lump on my head in the mirror. It didn’t look bad; probably wouldn’t even bruise.
“Yes, I’m sure driving home in Holden’s Porsche or whatever will be a real hardship for you, what with him looking absolutely delicious in that tux.” Maxine reapplied her lipstick next to me and rolled her eyes. “Just think, babycakes, this time next month, we could be on a yacht, floating around the Atlantic and enjoying chilled drinks served by a man in a sailor’s uniform.”
I shuddered, thinking of Richard.
“I hope in this fever dream of yours that Richard is not the one in the sailor’s uniform.”
Maxine mashed her lips together twice before turning to face me.
“Of course not. That would be Teddy. He’s from Australia and works on yachts to see some of the world before he settles down at a desk job.” She sighed dreamily. “He loves sunning on deck in a Speedo when he’s not working.”
I blinked at her a few times, impressed and horrified that she had come up with that scenario on the fly. I thumbed over my shoulder in the direction of the door.
“On that creepy and slightly pervy note, I’m going to go take my chances with Holden. Make good decisions. Text me when you get home, no matter how late it is.” I hesitated with one hand on the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“What, like spend the evening in my pajamas on my couch having a full conversation with a pack of rod —”
“Bye!” I called, the last note cut off by the closing of the door. Holden was in the same spot, casually leaning one shoulder against the wall while staring at his phone again. He even had that little furrow between his eyebrows.
At the sound of my heels clicking across the marble floor, he glanced up from his phone screen, gaze sweeping up from my feet to meet my eyes. I smiled, watching as that little furrow disappeared.
“Hi,” I greeted him, coming to a stop a few feet away, but close enough that I could catch just the faintest hint of his expensive sandalwood cologne.
“Hi,” he responded, eyes roaming over my face.
We stood there staring at each other for one breath, then another, while I worked up the courage to ask Holden for a ride. It wasn’t that I was worried he would say no — it was that somewhere in those few moments I had realized that I was about to be alone in a car with Holden. And not just any iteration of Holden: This was Holden St. James in a tuxedo wearing a delicious, spicy cologne that seemed to have a direct link to my ovaries — eau de rip my clothes off right now please.
“So, I was wondering if the offer of a ride home was still available?” I finally managed to ask.
He nodded, slipping his cell back into his jacket. He straightened, removing his shoulder from its spot on the wall and leaving me wondering just how long he would have let me stand there doing a horny gargoyle impression.
“The offer did not expire.” He grimaced, motioning us forward. “That was an exceedingly bad lawyer joke.”
“Lucky for you, I don’t turn away rides for bad jokes,” I returned, distracted by the hand that had come to rest on my lower back. Holden’s touch burned through my body like a forest fire across dry leaves. “Did you need to let anyone know you’re leaving?”
“No. I texted Macon and Greer to let them know you have a headache and I’m giving you a ride home.”
I chose not to think about the fact that he must have been awfully confident he’d be the one to take me home if he’d already texted Macon. I opted instead to accept my fate with what little dignity I had left after plowing face-first into a wall.
I leaned away from his touch slightly in an effort to regain some cognitive function. “Oh great, thank you, for the excuse and the ride.” I laughed lightly. “Although it might not be an excuse; I’m pretty sure I gave myself a concussion.”
“Is your head really bothering you? We can stop at the ED on the way home.”
I shook my head, instantly wincing from the motion. It was hard to say if the sudden wave of dizziness was from the close encounter with the wall, or from the copious amounts of champagne swimming through my veins.
“No, no. That was a bad joke. There, now we’ve both met our bad joke quota for the night. I’m pretty sure that if I wake up tomorrow morning with a headache, it won’t be from bumping into the wall.” I hoped “bumping” sounded less embarrassing than “smashing.”
With that admission out of the way, we walked to the lobby in silence, both of us seemingly lost in our own thoughts. Holden’s hand stayed on me the entire time.
