“I was just looking for her actually,” he says, moving in closer towards us.
“I didn’t know you two were together,” he tries one more time; I feel like I’m caught in a testosterone-fuelled tug-of-war.
Athletes. Muscles beat the brains ten to one.
“Now you know.”
He raises his hands and shoots me a look I can’t discern and then makes off towards the car park.
“Everything okay?”
“I could have held him off by myself.”
“Sure.”
Even drunk I pick up on the ridicule in his voice.
“But you know, I owe you, so…”
I smile, instinctively.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Oh, no,” I suddenly wake up a little. “No one’s taking me anywhere tonight.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not too drunk to understand that you’re trying to…”
“I’m not trying anything, Riley.”
Did my name always sound this beautiful?
“I just want to make sure you get home. Alright? Give me the address and I’ll call a cab for you.”
He looks at me as he waits for an answer, his phone in his hand.
“Well?”
Address. Yep, got it. That shouldn’t be too hard.
“You don’t remember?” he presses.
“I’m trying to. Just give me a second.”
“Take two,” he says, teasing me again.
Okay, they’re all arseholes.
I step away from the wall and take a few paces along the pavement, tapping my finger against my temple.
Think, Riley, think. This is not difficult.
I turn my head towards him, starting to see stars; maybe I’m moving too quickly, because the next thing I feel after I close my eyes is two strong arms grabbing me, stopping my fall.
I hear his voice, I feel someone lightly slapping my face. I feel his heat but I’m too tired and I can’t open my eyes to tell him I don’t need his help.
I don’t need anybody’s help.
I can do it, I just need to rest for a bit. I need a two-minute time-out.
Then I’ll tell him to piss off.
