I shrug again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. “Think what you want. I’m just being a friend to Isabelle.”
Rose snorts. “A friend you want to fuck.”
I’m quiet for a minute, trying to think of something to say to that, when Isabelle races back into the bar, a bright smile on her face. “They’re coming. Kelly’s not pregnant, but they do have some news.”
“They do?” What the fuck? “What news?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
That fucker. I’m about to text him when Max returns, which causes Isabelle to slide back into the seat next to me. Just where she belongs.
By the time the ladies have finished another pitcher, Isabelle is pretty tipsy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk, even at Isaac’s wedding. She’s all flushed from the alcohol, and her words are slightly slurred. She’s been saying some pretty silly shit, which has made us all laugh. Oh, and she’s been touching me nonstop. I’ve got to say, tipsy Isabelle is a good thing, but only because I’m here to watch out for her. I’ve been drinking water all night for just that reason. I can’t say I’d be thrilled to find out she does this frequently. There are guys here who’d pick up on Isabelle’s inebriated state and take advantage. I’m not one of them. No, I’m the one and only man here who’ll make sure she gets home safely.
“Come on, Isabelle,” I say, nudging her side. “Time to get you home.”
“I’m fine,” she whines a little bit. “I’m having fun for once.”
Rose leans in. “I’m wasted. I need to get to bed, girl.”
“Yep. Let’s go, babe.” I nudge her again.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “But I want it on the record that it’s—” She squints at the clock. “—nine o’fucking clock on a Friday night and you are all party poopers.”
Max laughs. “Nine o’fucking clock? That’s one I’ve got to use.”
Isabelle pats his face. “You go right ahead, Maxy.”
I swear she’s about to lean in and kiss his cheek, but I pull her back. “That’s enough of that.”
Rose snorts from her seat across from me. “Man up, Watson,” she mutters.
I know what she’s saying, but I can’t. I won’t. I’m being a friend and making sure she gets home in one piece. It’s what friends do.
* * *
“That wassoooooomuch fun,”she says with a giggle once we’ve walked down the sidewalk toward my old pickup. I don’t think she spots my car because she marches right past it. Jogging to catch up, I reach out and take her hand, pulling her back. “Truck’s over here, Isabelle.”
“But my car…,” she says, blinking at me.
“You can’t drive. We’ll get it tomorrow.”
Huffing, she lets me hold her hand and lead her back to the truck. “Fine.”
I can’t help noticing how great it feels to hold her little hand. Perfect actually. I can’t think about that––about the tingling sensation that’s running up my arm. At the truck, I pull open her door and help her up onto the bench seat. Reaching over, I buckle her in as I look around the cab, wondering if I should have cleaned it up a bit. I’d hate for some old grease to get on her little outfit.
“Right?” she asks, but I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I was too busy thinking about buying a new truck.
“Right,” I say in agreement as I slide behind the wheel.
It makes her laugh harder. “You think Max is cute too?”
What the fuck? “Max isn’t cute. He’s divorced.”
That makes her laugh harder. “What does his cuteness have to do with divorce?”
“Isabelle,” I sigh. She needs to know this. “He’s not for you. He’s just looking for a quick fuck, not for anything long-term.”
“Just like you.” She cackles again.
