Does he feel sorry for me?
Is he placating me?
I’m confused and angry and sad and mortified and growing drunker by the second.
“You’re not taking an Uber,” he growls.
I look up at his beautiful face and wish I could see inside his head to understand his motives, but I’m too scattered and messy. Flip bends and slides his arm under my legs, lifting me off the ground. I’m all muscle and heavier than I look, but he holds me like I weigh nothing.
“What are you doing?” I drop my forehead to his shoulder and close my eyes to stop the merry-go-round as he crosses the room.
“Taking care of you.” He carries me out of the Watering Hole and into the cold December night.
CHAPTER 6
TALLY
Flip sets me in the passenger seat and closes the door, blocking out the blustery December cold. He tucks his chin as he rounds the hood to the driver’s side.
I’m terrified, not of Flip’s disapproval or what all our friends must think—although that will come later, when I’m sober—but I fear I might hurl all over the leather interior of his luxury sports car. It’s new. He bought it this summer. It’s black and sleek and smells like him. I wish I could appreciate that I’m sitting in it, but my stomach is unhappy with my choices.
Flip settles into the driver’s seat and fastens his seat belt. Then he leans across, his hair brushing my cheek, and does the same for me. He backs up, gaze moving over my face. “Shots hitting you hard?”
I nod, but it makes everything spin. “Yeah.”
“It’s been a rough day, huh?”
“It started out great but went downhill at dinner.”
“I’m really sorry, kitten.” He opens the center console and passes me a reusable grocery tote. “In case your cookies need to be tossed.”
“Thanks.”
Being alone in his car with him is high on my fantasy list, but the being-too-hammered-to-function part is not.
He pulls out of the lot and into the sporadic late-night traffic. I stare into the bright green bag from the budget-friendly grocery store. Of course this is where Flip shops. He grew up poor. It doesn’t matter that he makes millions a year now. He still remembers where he started.
Too short a time later, he pulls into an underground parking garage.
I glance around, bleary-eyed and confused. I must have fallen asleep during the drive. “Where are we?”
“My place. I wasn’t convinced we’d make it to your apartment without an incident. I have a spare bedroom,” he explains.
“Oh. Good call.” It’s all I can think to say. Now my head is reeling just as much as my stomach.Flip brought me home with him. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.
He pulls into his designated spot and cuts the engine. It takes me a few seconds to realize I can’t get out without some action on my part. It takes several tries, but I finally hit the release button.
When I look up, he’s right there, hand extended. I slip my fingers into his open palm, wishing I could appreciate how good it feels to be touched by him. Even with his assistance, I stumble to my feet.
He catches me before I face-plant into his chest. His arm circles my waist, and he cups my cheek in his palm, exactly how I imagine he would if he were about to kiss me. Our faces are inches apart, his brow is slanted. “How much did you drink exactly, kitten?”
That term of endearment again. I want it to mean more than it does.
“Two margaritas, but then there were shots.”
“Shots are always the problem.” He keeps his arm around me, grabs the grocery tote from my empty seat, locks his car, and mostly carries me to the elevator.
I’ve never been this drunk before. The ride to his apartment was not good for my already addled brain and unsettled stomach.
