“It’s no problem,” she told him, but the smile she gave didn’t quite reach her eyes and his stomach clenched tightly. “That guy walked right into you.”
“Still. Let me—”
“It’s totally fine,” she insisted. “It’s my job to clean it up anyway.”
Nate deflated. It was stupid, but it was similar to a heavy weight settling onto his shoulders, forcing him down lower and lower until he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“Are you all right?” she asked, noticing his change.
Usually, he was better at masking his moods, hiding the signs that he was about to slip.
Usually he was sober though so, yeah.
“Fine.” He forced a smile he knew she didn’t believe and then motioned over his shoulder, wobbling some more from the effort. “I’m just going to head to the bathroom.”
She didn’t need to know that.
Idiot.
He was only bothering her with details that she didn’t need.
After giving her a mess that she hadn’t needed to waste time cleaning up either.
She’d probably been watching him down those drinks, wondering how long it would take before he became sloppy enough that she’d need to call over one of the bouncers.
Nate pushed his way through the masses of people, keeping his eyes glued to the neon orange sign hanging high over the archway that led to the bathrooms. He’d tuck himself away in one of the stalls and give himself a minute to sober up before calling for a cab. There’d be no risk of him getting into anyone else’s way so long as he did that.
He’d already ruined the race, made Flix feel bad enough to invite him out, and made that bartender's job five times harder than it’d needed to be. What next? Whose life was he going to trample all over?
Shouldering the bathroom door open, he gave a deep sigh of relief when he saw that it was empty. He was in the process of using the wall to help guide him toward one of the stalls when that relief died a swift death at the sound of the door reopening behind him.
“I came here to mess you up for costing me tonight,” a familiar voice drawled, “but it looks like you’ve already beat yourself up plenty.”
Nate leaned back against the white tile and turned his head toward the new arrival, grimacing when the image of Kazimir before him spun and seemed to double. He squeezed his eyes closed and then tried again.
Kaz quirked a brow at him. “It’s only been an hour since you left the boat house. How much did you drink at that time? Don’t tell me you’re a lightweight?”
“Don’t know.” He didn’t. If he had to guess how many he’d had…He shook his head. “I don’t drink often.”
“Often and not at all are two different things,” the hotshot pointed out. He shifted on his feet and crossed his arms, giving Nate a lengthy once over. “Breaking a couple of your fingers won’t be any fun now. In your current state, you’ll hardly even feel it.”
“Sorry,” the apology slipped past his lips naturally, before he could even consider why it didn’t make sense for him to say it in this context. The guy was threatening to hurt him, and yet here he was, feeling bad for ruining his good time.
Kazimir gave him a funny look. “I’m being serious.”
“Yeah.” Nate nodded. “I got that.”
“…About breaking your fingers. And possibly your nose, although,” Kaz cocked his head, “now that I’m looking at it again, you’ve got such a nice face. Maybe I’ll leave the nose alone.”
Nate grunted. “Thanks. You too.”
That dark brow lifted a second time.
“I meant you also have an attractive visage,” Nate reiterated, waving a hand in front of his own and almost falling in the process. He caught himself at the last second, propping his shoulders back against the tile before exhaling. “Close one.”
Kazimir merely watched him silently, his expression suddenly enigmatic.
Or maybe Nate was just too drunk to process things like that anymore.
