Alan grinned. “So much more than a pretty face I see. But there’s the whole problem of getting him out of the bloody toilet.”
“He’s going to have to walk without looking like to much of a drunk ass,” I said, not wanting to look at Lucas. I felt weird around him. Particularly since he was acting like our ten minutes in orgasmic bliss had never happened.
Though to be fair, we were more focused on staying up right.
Still I felt strange being in this situation with him. After all he had his fingers in my—
I started to get hot all over again. Lucas was looking at me. I wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was all so freaking mortifying. I doubted I’d ever see him again. And he probably wouldn’t even remember what happened. I was just one of a hundred girls he hooked up with on a regular basis.
The alcohol buzz was wearing off, and now I was left feeling like a total and complete idiot.
A total and complete idiot that hooked up with random hot football players in pub restrooms.
Ugh.
“I’m fine,” Lucas barked, trying to shake his friend off him. He stumbled, almost falling over.
“Sure you are, mate,” Alan scoffed, rolling his eyes. He glanced at me. “Think you could call that cab, my lovely, while I deal with this miserable cunt?”
“Uh sure.” I held the door open as Alan shuffled Lucas through it.
“Hold on a minute,” Lucas said, struggling against Alan’s arm.
“We need to get you home before you vomit on anything else.” Alan tried to maneuver Lucas out the door.
Lucas reached out and grabbed my arm, shocking me. I looked up and found him staring down at me, his eyes on fire. “Thank you. For everything.”
Was he thanking me for helping him while he puked? Or was he actually thanking me for letting him into my panties? I really hoped it was the former.
“Sure. Don’t mention it.”
Really, don’t mention it.
“I’m Lucas Bradley,” he continued, still holding my arm. Still looking at me with dark, unreadable eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Lucas Bradley. Now I think it’s time for you to get home.” I extracted my arm from his grasp and patted his hand as if he were five.
“What’s your name?” he asked, pushing against Alan who was still trying to move him along.
“Morgan Carter.”
He smiled. I smiled.
And then his eyes rolled up into his head and he passed out.
“Shit. Help me out here,” Alan grunted as he tried to stop Lucas from hitting the floor.
“There’s no way I can help you carry him,” I protested, looping one of Lucas’ arms around my shoulders and trying to stay upright. The guy was heavy.
“Well, I can’t do it myself. Come on before people realize we’re dragging a drunken football player out of here.” Alan directed us towards the kitchen door, which sat off to the right of the bar.
We moved as fast as we were able to but not fast enough to stop people from realizing something was going on.
“Oh my god, that’s Lucas Bradley. He’s completely arseholed!”
“Who’s that girl with them? Is she going home with both of them? What a slag.”
I ducked my head, my hair covering my face as I saw people take out their phones and point them in our direction.
