Page 91 of The Backup Plan

“I do. Occasionally. I mean if I can’t break one rule, I might as well break another,” he states matter-of-fact although it makes no sense to me.

“So, you got drunk.”

“Lightly,” he says holding up a finger. The slur of his words contradicts him. “Not irresponsibly. Just enough to make excellent decisions.”

That explains . . . a lot.

“That’s not reassuring.”

He grins. “You’re the one who answered your door. I mean, that’s encouraging, isn’t it?”

“Encouraging what though is the question,” I mutter.

I should close it. I should absolutely close it.

“Hi, Emery,” he says like he forgot that part. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing in my doorway, swaying slightly, smiling at me like I’m something he’s been looking forward to all day.

My damn heart trips over itself.

“Hi, Lucas. What are you doing here?” I ask, trying desperately not to be charmed by him, and already knowing whatever answer he gives me isn’t going to make this—him here, me resisting him—any easier.

“Hi,” he repeats softer this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

And that door I didn’t close? Yeah, it’s like he notices it all of a sudden and takes it as a victory and walks right inside.

The moment he’s in my place, he takes a long look around. He snorts at the lamp. Points to the piñata with a sound that’s close to reverence, and then turns to look at me properly in my mismatched pjs, damp hair, bare feet, and something in his expression softens.

“You look . . . comfortable,” he says.

“That’s the drunk version of telling me that I look like hell.” I snort.

“Strongly disagree,” he says shaking his head vehemently. He leans closer and then jerks his hands up, palms facing me. “Whoopsie. Was gonna touch you there but can’t do that. Gotta kept where it’s keep. Is that right? No. It’s not. But . . . gotta be professional and all that.”

“You call showing up at my door professional?” I tease.

“I, Lucas Hale, am trying very hard to respect your boundaries,” he says solemnly and then his shoulders sag. “It’s exhausting.”

Despite myself, a laugh slips out.

“See?” He points at me. “That’s so much better.”

“What is?”

“You not looking like you’re about to bolt.”

I cross my arms to prevent myself from reaching out and touching him. He’s adorable drunk. Nice. Sweet. Funny. It’s probably not a good thing for me to see him like this.

“You can’t just show up here and charm your way past everything.”

“Sure, I can. I’ve had years of charm practice.”

“Charm practice? That’s not helping your case any.”

“Do you know what helped my case though?” He raises his eyebrows and they both lift to different heights.

“What’s that?”

“That we kissed.”