Rowan’s hand settles at the small of my back, steadying me. We take a moment to say goodbye to everyone before making our way through the crowd. Every place his skin touches mine burns like a brand, even through the fabric of my shirt.
“Congratulations on your win,” he says as we step outside into the cool night air. “Even if you had to resort to stealing me from my team to pull it off.”
“Please,” I scoff. “You’re the one who stomped over and basically threatened Carter to switch with you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies with mock innocence, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.
I stumble on the curb, and Rowan’s arm immediately wraps around my waist, tucking me against his side.
“Easy there, tiger,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple.
“I’m not that drunk,” I protest, even as I lean into him for support.
“Sure,” he chuckles, guiding me toward his car. “Walking in a straight line is so overrated these days.”
I want to snark back, but my brain is way too fuzzy to come up with anything close to one of my usual witty comebacks.
Rowan helps me into the passenger seat of his car. I’m floating on a cloud of tequila and victory.
“Seatbelt,” he murmurs, leaning across me to fasten it.
His chest brushes against mine as he pulls the strap across my body. I inhale sharply—his warm breath smells of beer and mint, a powerful combo that makes my head spin even more. His fingers brush against that place between my hip and thigh as he clicks the buckle into place, and I have to bite my lip to keep from releasing a moan.
“All set?” he asks, his face still hovering close to mine.
Not trusting my voice, I nod. Hesitating only a moment, he pulls back and closes the door, hurrying around to the driver’s side.
The drive home passes in a blur of streetlights and a weird comfortable silence. I rest my head against the cool glass, watching the familiar scenery slip by. As soon as the engine shuts off, I hurry to fumble with my seatbelt.
“Hey. Relax,” Rowan murmurs, unbuckling it for me before climbing out to open my door.
“I can walk,” I insist as he offers me his arm, but the moment I stand, the world tilts sideways.
“Sure you can,” he chuckles. “Come on, lightweight.”
My protest dies on my lips as he slips an arm around my waist, guiding me toward the door.
Once we’re inside, I eye the stairs with suspicion. “Those weren’t that steep before,” I mutter, making Rowan laugh.
“One step at a time,” he says, tightening his grip as we begin our ascent.
Halfway up, my foot catches on a step, and I stumble forward. In one smooth move, Rowan swings me up bridal-style into his arms.
“Maybe I am a little drunk,” I admit begrudgingly into the side of his neck.
His body stiffens for a second before relaxing again. “You think?” His voice is a gruff but gentle tease.
When we finally reach my door, Rowan growls, “Where are your keys?
“They’re... somewhere,” I mumble with a frown.
Rowan sighs, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Which pocket?”
“Front?”
He hesitates for a moment before setting me on my feet, leaning me up against the wall. “May I?”
I nod, and his hand slides carefully into my right front pocket. The pressure and heat of his fingers make my breath catch. When he doesn’t find the keys in that pocket, he tries the other, knuckles brushing against my hip bone.
