Page 35 of Worth the Shot

I wonder if she has any idea how difficult she’s making it not to reach for her.

“I think it’s time for me to go home.” She laughs, stumbling into me a little as she hands back my beer.

I steady her, and she melts into me for a second. Only a second, but long enough to make me want more.

I pay for our drinks, set the beer I’ve been nursing on the bar, and turn back just in time to watch Delaney somehow wrangle Jo. They stumble toward me like two toddlers who just learned how to walk, both snickering like school girls.

“She thinks you’re sooooo cute,” Jo slurs, and Delaney smacks her arm, both of them still laughing.

“Shut up,” she mumbles, but her cheeks are already flushed, and I laugh, even though my body heats with something else entirely.

Jo leans closer, lowering her voice like she’s telling me a secret, except she’s so unaware of how loud she’s actually talking when she says, “She’s such a lightweight, always has been.”

“I am not,” Delaney protests, words running together as she sways slightly into my side again. “You’re the one who shoved a tequila shot in my mouth the second we got to the dance floor!”

“Uh-huh,” Jo says, patting her shoulder like she’s humoring a child.

I slide an arm around Delaney’s waist before she tips too far, suddenly very aware of the way it feels pressed against her, steadying both of them as I guide them toward the exit. The cool night air hits us the second we step outside, and Delaney leans a little more into me, her head nearly brushing my shoulder.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

“Mhm,” she hums, eyes still a little glossed over.

I get them into the car, helping Jo into the back first before walking Delaney around to the passenger side. She watches me with that soft, unfocused smile while I open the door, and I have to swallow hard before helping her in. Once they’re both settled, I slide behind the wheel and pull away, the quiet of the car a sharp contrast to the music still echoing in my ears.

“You live…where again?” I ask, glancing over at Delaney.

She gives me solid directions, seemingly already sobering up a little, and I nod, heading in that direction. She shifts beside me, her head tipping toward the window before slowly drifting my way instead. I don’t move. Don’t breathe, even, as her shoulder presses lightly against mine on the center console.

And the entire drive, I can’t stop thinking how being the one who gets to take her home feels like the best kind of luck.

We pull up to Delaney’s apartment, and I park the truck. Wanting to make sure they both get inside okay, I walk them up to her place.

Delaney immediately disappears into what I can only guess is her bedroom, only to reemerge a minute later in pajamas. Jo mutters something about needing a shower and going straight to bed, then vanishes down the hall.

I’m just about to say goodbye and head for the door, not wanting to overstep whatever line I’m already toeing, when Delaney stops me. Which is a problem, because one look at her long legs in those pajama shorts already has me halfway out of my mind.

“Blueberry muffin?” she asks over her shoulder, holding a bag of flour in one hand while dragging a KitchenAid mixer across the island with the other.

There go those walls again.

“No fucking way,” I tease, “I’m finally worthy of your famous blueberry muffins?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. The worthy or the famous part.” She smirks, then catches her bottom lip between her teeth. My attention lands there immediately and refuses to move. Suddenly, all I can think about is what it might feel like to catch that bottom lip between my own teeth.

“Can I help with anything?” I ask, trying to sound casual so I don’t ruin whatever this is.

“Nope. Just sit there and look pretty. I’ll handle the rest.”

I do exactly as instructed and slide onto a barstool at the island. “Ah, so you do think I’m pretty,” I tease, a sly grin pulling at my mouth as I rest my elbows on the counter.

She glances up from the chaos in front of her, flour dusted across one cheek. She smiles, a dimple appearing on the left side, then drops her gaze again.

She looks so beautiful in this moment I think I might actually be dreaming. Barefoot in her kitchen, hair a little wild from the night. Music plays low from somewhere in the apartment as warm light catches her skin while she measures sugar.

My heart is hammering in my chest and my breath is uneven and shaky. When she finally speaks again, she’s quiet, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

“I do.”