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“Keep your fucking hands off her,” Avery snarls. “Claire, let’s go.” He pulls me tight into his side and stalks off toward the building, my feet barely touching the ground as he drags me along with him.
Avery pushes me through the front doors and jams his finger into the elevator button about twenty-five thousand times. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He glares down at me, lips curled back over his teeth. His chest lifts and falls rapidly with each heavy breath.
I’m feeling a little bit intimidated by him right now, mildly shocked by what just happened outside, and a lot drunk, so I sway backwards on my feet.
Avery catches me, his grip tight on my arm, midnight eyes flicking over me. He leans closer. “Are you drunk right now?”
My eyes widen and I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. The elevator opens and he scoffs, forcing me through the doors. He steps in after me and mutters something under his breath.
“What?”
He turns on me, looking downright livid. “I said un-fucking-believable, Claire. You walked home by yourself in the middle of the night in downtown Toronto.” He waves his hand over my body. “You’re fucking trashed.”
“I am…not.” I lean back on the wall, because I have to, and he twists away, shaking his head. Our eyes stay locked on each other in the mirrored walls. The elevator feels like it’s moving faster than normal.
My face lights up when I realize Sully’s staring at me, panting happily with his tongue flopping out the side of his mouth. I crouch down and reach for his face while he trots over to me.
“Sully, leave it.” Avery tightens his hold on the leash, stopping Sully. He whimpers and my face falls. I’m an it and Avery doesn’t want me near his dog. Avery sighs and grumbles something I can’t hear before giving the leash some slack. Sully comes bounding into my arms while I sink to the floor, burying my face in his fur.
“You didn’t have to ride with me. You could have…took…your fancy elevator.”
He snorts. “Little late for that, isn’t it?” I lift my eyes to find that we’re only five floors away from mine. “And clearly you need someone to make sure you get home safely.”
Okay, now maybe I’m not entirely in my right mind right now, but the words I want to say to him are right on the tip of my tongue. He looks pretty freaking angry with me and if telling him now instead of waiting ’til tomorrow ends this madness, I’m game for it.
Except that I’m not in my right mind so I’m not sure how much he’d appreciate the sentiment right now. So I zip my lip and lock it, throwing away the fake key. Avery’s eyebrows skyrocket while he watches my reflection. I think I even see the corner of his mouth twitch while he tries to fight a smile.
The doors ding and before I can even attempt to pick myself up off the floor, Avery’s fingers curl around mine, hauling me to my feet. He ushers me out into the hallway without another word.
Feeling a little dejected—although rightfully so after my performance this morning—I mosey on down to my door, putting a little extra saunter in my step.
It’s actually not a saunter at all. I’m pretty sure it looks more like a cop pulled me over and asked me to walk in a straight line while touching my nose with alternating hands. I’m failing miserably.
I shove my key in the lock and glance over my shoulder to find Avery’s head peeking out the elevator, one big, strong, masculine, magical hand holding it open. When I disappear—backwards so I can still watch him—into my apartment, his shoulders sag, he breathes a sigh, and the doors slide closed in front of him, but not before I hear him murmur, “Goodnight Claire.”
Aw, crap. I think I love him a lot.
***
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Avery
It’s a beautiful day, which is absolute shit for my mood, because I feel like a bag of hot garbage, and it would be fantastic if the weather could more accurately match that feeling. Instead, I’m sitting on the patio in the sunshine, soaking it all up, wishing I was at home doing a whole shitload of nothing.
It’s not like me. I’m not lazy. I don’t like to sit around with nothing to do, that’s why I rarely do it. I like to be busy. I like to work my ass off. I like sitting here every Friday with Wyatt while we drink good alcohol and eat good food before heading back to the office for the last few hours before the weekend hits.
Today, though? Today I don’t wanna do anything. I sure as shit don’t wanna go to this fundraiser tonight where I’m somehow supposed to act like I don’t see Claire, like I don’t want to be the one spinning her around the dancefloor, pulling her in for a kiss. Thirty-six hours ago, she was supposed to be my date tonight. We were moving forward, or so I thought. Instead, we took, like, ten giant leaps backwards.
The waitress sets my scotch down in front of me with a wink. “Back to scotch, huh? Off that beer kick?” Her face screws up with distaste. “That Strawberry Grove is so disgusting and sour, I don’t know how you drink it.” She juts her hip out and tosses her straight, golden locks over her shoulder.
“I like the sour,” I mutter, taking a sip of my scotch. But the thought of drinking that beer today makes my throat feel itchy and I need something stronger right now.
“Mhmm, whatever you say. I like you better as a scotch drinker.”
Great, I don’t give a fuck. That’s what I almost say, and Wyatt knows it’s on the tip of my tongue, because he’s smirking at me over the edge of his glass, one brow creeping toward his hairline.
Instead, I give the waitress a tight-lipped smile and raise my glass. “Thanks for the drink.”
