I chewed the inside of my cheek. Nightcap, my ass. Avery did have a slur going on, but that wasn’t the only thing that suggested he’d had too much. His gestures were heavy and clumsy, and when he’d checked the time on his phone, he seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes.
He could drink like any hockey player, and he usually held his liquor well. Not like this.
I tried not to drum my fingers nervously on the bar. “You good tonight, Captain?”
The wince was subtle, but it was there, though he quickly covered it with a laugh before sipping his drink. “Just too wound up to sleep. You know how it goes.”
“Uh-huh. I do.” I shifted in the barstool. “You, um… You planning on…?” I gestured toward the elevators.
Annoyance flickered across his face, sending a ripple of panic through me. Shit, had I overstepped? But before I could back pedal, he released a resigned sigh. “I should get some sleep.” He threw back the remainder of his drink, and the ice cubes clinked as he put the glass down beside his phone. Then he gestured for the bartender, who brought him his check.
Well, at least he was calling it a night now rather than later. The bar would be closing in the next half hour or so, but that meant he still could’ve squeezed in one more drink before last call. With as much as he was struggling just to sign the credit card receipt, one more drink could’ve spelled disaster.
“All right.” He put the pen down on the receipt and pushed it away. “Let’s get out of here.”
I managed a quick smile and got up.
Then Avery went to stand, but his balance wavered. Badly.
I grabbed his arm and put my other hand on his chest to steady him. “Whoa. Hey. You sure you’re all right?”
He laughed, gripping the back of the barstool for support. “Should’ve watched that first step, I guess.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m good.” He smacked my arm, casually brushing myhand off his chest in the process. “C’mon. Let’s get upstairs before—” He made it two steps this time before he staggered to the side.
Without a word, I slung his arm around my shoulders and wrapped mine around his waist. He muttered insistence that he could walk just fine, but he was leaning heavily on me, so I listened to his body instead of his mouth.
We both probably looked drunk as hell, staggering across the lobby toward the elevators. Fine. I just wanted to make sure Avery got back to his room, ideally in time to sleep this off and absolutely before someone else from the team saw him.
God, please don’t let anyone be filming us.
The last thing either of us needed was this ending up on the internet.
Fortunately, the lobby was pretty deserted and I didn’t see any phones pointed in our direction. I didn’t think anyone even noticed us, honestly, aside from a desk clerk who glanced up at us before returning her attention to her computer monitor.
Not a moment too soon, I poured us into an otherwise empty elevator. “What floor are you on?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Avery? What floor?—”
“Ninth.” He tugged something free from his pocket and glared at it, then nodded sharply. “Yeah. Ninth.”
Well, that was a plus—he had his keycard with him. I hadn’t even thought to check, and I really didn’t want to have to ask the front desk for another key to his room.
I jabbed the button for the ninth floor. My room was on the eighth, but I’d get there after I knew Avery was safely in his.
Avery made a half-assed effort to free himself from me,but as soon as I loosened the arm around his waist, he faltered. He caught himself with a hand flat on the mirrored wall, leaving a handprint on the otherwise clean glass.
“Shit,” he muttered. “They mix ’emstrongin this place.”
I huffed a laugh, but I didn’t buy it. Yeah, some of the hotel bartenders could have a heavy hand, but one drink—no matter how strong—wasn’t going to turn a pro hockey player into…this.
The elevator stopped. I let Avery try to take a couple of steps on his own, then just quietly caught him again and hauled him out of the car. “What room?”
“Nine twenty—uh…” Avery turned over the keycard’s envelope. “Oh. Nine-twelve.”
