I laugh, but she just gives me an eye before looking back at them.
“El, you really think—”
“Wait, I think Wesley’s intervening,” She cuts me off.
I look over. Wesley is talking to Brantley, while Addison is looking at Wes with hopeful eyes. They go back and forth a few times before Wesley walks off. Brantley says something seemingly rude to Addison and then walks the other direction. Addison stands there looking even more upset. Yeah, I’m not letting that slide.
The song ends and I let go of Ella. “I gotta figure that out.” I kiss her forehead and make my way across the floor.
“Addie?” I call out, and she looks at me, her face lighting upa little. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip.
I tilt my head at her; she’s lying.
“Brantley’s drinking and I’m afraid he’s going to get drunk,” she says. Before I can say anything, Wesley stops beside me and enters the conversation.
“I told him to stop after one since he has to drive home tonight, but he insisted he can handle at least three more and still be fine,” Wes says.
“Oh, did he now?” My demeanor changes. I don’t like cocky, especially from a nineteen-year-old kid. “Too bad we don’t have any family members who are cops here.” I shrug before turning around to find Mason.
“Jesse …” Addison warns.
“Let him handle it, Addie,” I hear Wes tell her just before I’m through a crowd of people.
I stop beside Mason as he’s talking to some girl. Observing his red cheeks, I inspect further. He’s sweating profusely—his forehead is beaded with sweat and his shirt is wet under his arms. If I didn’t have something serious I wanted to talk to him about, I’d give him a hard time over it.
Their conversation is forced to stop as they turn their attention to me.
“Yeah?” Mason’s tone is sharp, but he forces a smile to cover his irritation toward me interrupting his attempt at picking up this girl.
“Brantley needs his ass handed to him; he’s drinking,” I tell him.
He straightens and looks beyond me for him.
“What is he, stupid?” he retorts, a sharper tone coming out, along with a head shake.
“Apparently.”
He apologizes to the girl and walks off. I don’t follow him; I find my way back to Ella. She’s still having fun on the dance floor. The DJ just turned on Shania Twain and she is all about it.
Within the hour, Ella is a full-on tease. A few glasses of wine and she’s whispering things in my ear that, as a man, I cannot handle in a public space. I’m done trying to hold back. I need her home, out of that dress, and in our bed hours ago.
Saying our quick goodbyes, we start down the driveway forourhouse. I didn’t really think about it, but my truck is blocked in and I’m not waiting a half hour to get it out just to drive a quarter mile down the driveway. I usually have a lot of patience but not today, not for that.
“These heels are killing me. Hold on.” She stops and reaches down to take them off.
“I’ll carry you,” I suggest and pick her up before she has a chance to argue. Her laugh is contagious, snort and all.
“Look at you and your muscles,” she teases, running a finger seductively down my bicep.
I can’t help but laugh at her. “How many glasses of wine did you have, sweetheart?”
“Not many. They only fill them halfway. Little, tiny bit, like this.” She shows me the measurement with her fingers.
“And how many of those ‘little, tiny bits’ did you have?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She grins and starts to kiss my neck.
