He chuckles, and the sound reverberates against me. “Sounds like quite the story.”
I don’t deserve this, but Iwantthis.
To be taken care of.
“I really didn’t break the doorknob. I mean, apparently, I did, but it wasn’t on purpose. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I believe you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Because youdidbreak the doorknob?”
“Because I didn’t tell you why I wanted to come here.”
“It’s quite all right. I’m rather tipsy, so I’ll probably accidentally dump you down the stairs as I try to finish this role of playing hero tonight.”
I jerk my head up.
He gives me a lopsided grin.
“Oh my god, put me down.”
We’re almost to the stairs.
Tank is behind us.
Jake is nowhere in sight.
“I’m eighty-three percent certain that I can make it to the bottom of the stairs just fine.”
“Simon. We can’t leave. We haven’t had dinner yet.”
He grins. “I bloody well can’t eat it without paying for sins I haven’t committed yet, so I daresay that your intentions will be best suited with us leaving this way instead.”
And then he sways.
Tank grabs him by the shoulders. “Put her down, boss.”
“Such a spoilsport.” He takes the first step down the staircase. “Tell me, Bea, what sort of meal were you planning to cook me to thank me for being the world’s best—hic!—date?”
“Nothing if you don’t put me down. I can’t cook with a broken arm.”
“I can make it,” he insists as he takes another step.
“So we’re definitely leaving?”
“Yes. In protest of the menu.” He hiccups again as he takes a third step.
If I try to fight to get down, we’re rolling all the way to the bottom of this staircase.
“But my bag?—”
“Tank shall—hic!—retrieve it.”
Two more steps. We’re two more steps down.
“Oh my god, are youacting?” I whisper.
