“I didn’t!”
“But you’re saying you would’ve?”
She falters. “No. I don’t know! God, my head hurts now!”
I throw my hands out. “That ain’t my fault! Blame…Sutter Home and Merlot.”
That earns me a snort out of her, half amused, half annoyed. “It was Cabernet, thank you very much.”
“Yeah? Well, tell Cabernet you’re grounded.” I grab a glass, fill it with water, and press it into her hand. “And drink this before you even think about kissing me good night.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, teasing. “Oh, I’m definitely thinking about kissing you.”
I harden my voice. “Karissa.” It’s firm enough to stop her, even if I hate seeing her expression fall. “Drink the water.”
She groans. “You’re acting like I’m a kid who got caught underage drinking.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “No. I’m acting like a husband who’s not gonna watch his wife use this”—I gesture to her unsteady stance, the flush on her cheeks, all of it—“as her quick fix when she’s struggling with depression.”
That silences her. And I almost wish I’d bitten my tongue, because the weight in the room drops like a brick.
Her cheeks are still warm, but her eyes soften, voice quieter now. “You’re mad.”
I exhale through my nose, shaking my head. “I’m not mad.” My voice comes out softer this time, because it’s the truth. “I’m worried.”
The air is still until she breaks it. “You don’t have to be worried. It could be worse. I’m not that drunk.” She pushes off the counter, heads toward the bedroom, and trips over the rug. A laugh follows, like it’s no big deal, and she keeps going.
I drag a hand down my face.
“I’ll be in in a minute,” I call after her, stepping toward the living room.
Her voice floats back, playful, teasing. “Oh, I know you will.”
I just shake my head, exasperated, and scoop up my plate from the coffee table, stick it in the sink, then grab the baby monitor. Emma’s still out cold. Thankfully, she went down easy tonight.
When I get to our bedroom, Karissa’s halfway out of the dress. She eyes me and does the rest slowly, like she’s trying to do something.
“Karissa,” I warn, setting the monitor on the nightstand. “You’re not seducing me right now. You’re about to fall over.”
She laughs, tipping her head back like it’s the funniest thing I’ve said all night. “So catch me,” she flirts, voice light.
I shake my head, having zero patience for her games, and slide the rest of the dress off, fold it, and toss it on the dresser. Then I grab the folded pajamas from the bed and push them over her head and up her legs, one piece at a time.
“There.” I pat her hip. “Go brush your teeth.”
She rolls her eyes but walks off.
By the time she climbs into bed, she’s finally not saying much. She meets me in the middle, curling into my chest like she always does.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark, wondering how tomorrow will go. If this will be an argument or she’ll see the issue and say it won’t happen again.
I feel her hand start to wander, snapping me from my thoughts. She slides it down my chest, fingers dragging over my stomach until she’s at the waistband of my boxers.
I grab her wrist before she can go further. “Riss…” My voice comes out like a warning. “Go to sleep.”
“Ugh.” She groans and rolls over. “Fine.”
“I love you.”
