He’s still standing there.
I’m still looking up.
Neither of us know what to do with our hands.
“No.”
“Oh, sorry. Thank you for helping me.” My head tilts back against Killian’s arm once more, and I settle into his warmth, but my eyes don’t leave Luther’s even as Killian starts gesturing with the half-full bottle.
“Generally, when someone says ‘thank you’, you say…”
Luther inhales deeply and closes his eyes, like he’s resisting the urge to strangle his friend.
“You’re welcome.”
I laugh. “Don’t hurt yourself, now.”
“Wouldn’t want that, would we? Or—maybe we do, that wayIcan be your sparring partner instead.”
I descend into a fit of giggles. “We’d never actually train. You’d spend the whole time playing grab ass instead of teaching me how not to get my shit rocked by the next dickhead who looks at me funny.”
“Okay but if I were there, no one would try to rock your shit in the first place.”
“Yeah and when you’re not? I need to know how to save myself. So, no thanks, I think I’ll keep him.” I nod to Luther with a smile.
He’s not smiling.
He’s frowning.
Does he know how to smile?
“He knows.” Oh. I said that out loud. Oops. “But his face always gets stuck in that RBF—yes! That’s the one.” He snaps and points at Luther, who’s now scowling. I smack Killian’s chest with the back of my hand.
“Be nice!”
“I am nice! I’m the nicest guy here!”
I look around, realizing the only people left are passed out in various positions around the room. “We’re theonlyones here,” I laugh. “Doesn’t count. The sample size is too small.”
“Luther, tell her I’m nice.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Oh myGoddude, you’re supposed to be my wingman here. Get itwingman? Cause he has wings?” He laughs and nudges me. “You should see them, Nyx. You know what they said about wing size, don’t you?”
“Killian.”
“The bigger the wings, the bigger the?—”
“Killian.”
“Horns! I was gonna sayhorns. Bro, get your head out of the gutter, honestly.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment, and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and I tip over until I’m resting on his lap.
“Baby girl, I think you might be drunk.”
“I know what you are but what am I,” I snark back, giggling.
“I think that’s our cue.” He snakes one arm under my leg, and the other under my neck. The world tilts as he maneuvers me like limp noodle over his shoulder, and Luther catches his elbow when he stumbles over the empty liquor bottle.
