“I think you’ve had one too many,” I say softly, curling gentle fingers around her forearm to steady her swaying body.
Her skin feels exactly as I remember—impossibly soft, warm against my palm.
“I’m perfectly fine!” She huffs dramatically, a stray blonde curl dancing across her forehead as she tries to wrench free of my grip. The sudden movement nearly sends her into a neighboring table, her heel snagging on an uneven floorboard.
“Sure you are,” I mutter, tightening my hold just enough to keep her vertical while guiding her toward the exit.
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Wendy’s knowing look, her slight nod telling me to get Sarah home safe, and I’m left wondering if she knows about our past.
Before we can escape, Amanda materializes in our path like she always does, her posture somehow even more rigid beneath the bar’s dim lights. “Where are you going?” she says, looking rather displeased.
“I’m taking Sarah home.”
“Amanda!” Sarah brightens instantly, lunging forward to grab our coworker’s arm with drunken accuracy. Her fingers drift down Amanda’s sleeve in a clumsy caress before she pitches forward dangerously, forcing me to catch her around the waist.
With a look of absolute revulsion, Amanda yanks her arm back as if she touched slime.
“Help me get rid of this guy, will ya?” Sarah slurs, loud enough for half the bar to hear, jabbing a thumb in my direction.
Amanda’s expression shifts from disgust to outright offense, and I steer Sarah toward the exit before workplace relations can deteriorate beyond repair. Despite her slurred protests and half-hearted attempts to dig in her heels, I muscle her through the crowd. By tomorrow’s sunrise, this whole mortifying episode will be nothing more than a blur drifting somewhere behind her throbbing temples.
We’re halfway down the block when she grumbles, “I can walk by myself.”
Her legs fumble beneath her, ankles wobbling in those heels, but I don’t let her fall. “I’m sure you’ll thank me for this tomorrow.”
The cool night breeze feels great against my warm face. That guy really got my blood boiling back there.
“I don’t need a knight in shining armor.” Every other word slurs together, her vowels stretching like a mother’s baby talk.
“Maybe not,” I say, tightening my hold as we near the apartment building, “but you need sleep. Especially if you want to be functional at the anniversary party this Friday.” I glance down at her, searching her face. “Where are your keys?”
A mischievous grin spreads across her face, and she tries her best to look at me, but her eyes wander all over the place—the streetlamp, a parked car, the moon. “They’re in a secret place,” she says.
“How much did you have to drink?”
“That’s”—she twitches with another hiccup—“nonya...”
Steadying her by the arm, I sigh. “Sarah, come on. Where are they?”
“Nonya business!” she shouts, the words bursting out before dissolving into hysterical laughter that earns us a few curious looks from passing pedestrians.
Time to switch tactics. “Can you please give me your keys?” At this point, I might as well drop to my knees and beg.
She twirls in a slow circle while I keep her balanced, arms outstretched like she’s performing some drunken ballet. “Why don’t you search me?”
I lift an eyebrow and draw in a steadying breath. What am I supposed to do with her? This is the first time I’ve ever seen her drunk. She was always against it at house parties, preaching about preserving her brain cells like it was a sacred duty, like it mattered more than being one of the cool kids. And because of that, I’d ended up drinking two of everything. My idiot friends had made sure of it. I step closer and ask, “Seriously. Where are your keys?”
“You’re getting warmer.” She whispers like we’re playing some drunken game of hide-and-seek, leaning in until I catch the faint scent of gin and lime.
I reach for her bag at her waist, but she hides it behind her back with surprising speed.
“C’mon, Sarah.”
She giggles. “Much warmer.”
I envelop her with both arms so she can’t move and slip my hand inside her purse.
“Not fair,” she protests.
