I could see the look of rejection on her face and I hate being the guy who brought that on. But after a bunch of tequila, on a hundred-pound frame, she’s in no position to know what constitutes a good idea. I’m not going to be the guy who takes advantage of that, even if it means rocking a semi hard-on which is not pleasant while I drive. I’ll get over it.
It’s not a long drive to where Linden lives, and traffic is light at this hour so it shouldn’t take us long to get there. I look over at her, resting her head against the seat with her hair loose, framing her face. She’s delicate and beautiful with her eyes closed, kind of reminding me of what my sister always says about her kids: angelic while they’re sleeping, demonic when they’re up.
Not that Linden is possessed by the devil, but she does have a streak. It didn’t surprise me that a guy took the opportunity to hit on her the minute her friend walked away. Of course he’d ask her to join them. Of course he’d buy her drinks. I’ll admit to being a little surprised she went along with it. Even from where I sat, I could see he was out of his league with her. And she’s not one to suffer fools.
So, I’m interested in knowing why she stayed after her friend left. I’m not arrogant enough to assume it was so she could corner me in a hallway. That seemed like a spontaneous decision, though one I enjoyed immensely. Still, I want to know what she saw in the blonde guy because I’m pretty sure she gave him her phone number before she left. It bugs me that I care at all. He looked like a too-tall, boyband wannabe and I want to hear her say she agrees.
“Was that guy your type, the one at the bar?”
She laughs. “I’m not sure I remember what he looks like.”
“Made that much of an impression, huh?”
“Something like that.” I can’t really take my eyes off the road, but I can tell she’s looking at me. When I hit a red light, I glance at her, expecting her to look away. But she doesn’t. The warm light from the streetlamps and the traffic signal wash over her face with a pinkish glow and she looks pretty in a way I’ve never noticed before. There’s a softness to her face that I don’t ever see at work when she’s scrambling to meet a deadline.
“Thanks again for the ride,” she says. “Definitely better than an uptight Uber driver who’s worried I’ll puke in his car.”
“You say the nicest things. And please don’t puke in my car.”
She smiles, tilts her head away, and closes her eyes again; a contented smile on her face. The light turns green.
A few minutes later, we’re outside her building. It feels like I should walk her to the door, but this isn’t a date. I just need to make sure she gets inside safely. I know my place, one step up from an Uber driver. That’s all.
“I don’t think I have the energy to go upstairs. Can I sleep here?” she says, her voice syrupy and lazy.
“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“I’m kidding. I’m not that drunk,” she says.
I come around and open her door. She doesn’t make much of a move to hoist herself out of the seat. “Can you stand up?” I ask. She’s petite, and five drinks is a lot. Maybe it’s hitting her harder now.
“I can, but I’m really happy here. I lied when I said I wasn’t that drunk.” She smiles. And she’s fucking adorable.
“I think you’ll feel better if you wake up in your own bed,” I say, doing my best to offer her some leverage so she can stand up. But she really doesn’t want to move. “Okay, change of plan. Can you get out your keys?”
She digs into her purse and drops them into my hand. Tucking the keys into my back pocket, I lean down and wrap an arm under her knees and another behind her shoulders. Then I carry her up the stairs of her duplex as her purse hangs off one elbow and she leans her head on my arm.
“You have nice arms,” she mumbles, and I wonder if she’ll remember any part of this in the morning. “It’s important for you to know this, even though you’re carrying me and I’m not light, so you probably already know.”
“You’re pretty light. But thanks.”
I feel her wrap her arms around my neck, probably just to get secure as I carry her up the stairs, but as her fingers settle lightly across the back of my neck, I fight against how much I like the sensation. It’s probably subconscious, but she’s running her fingernails through the hair at the nape of my neck and it feels amazing.
I focus on getting the door unlocked and carrying her inside without bumping her against walls or furniture accidentally. I’m able to flip the light switch on with my shoulder so I’m not moving blindly through a dark space, and it seems like a better idea to settle her on the couch instead of taking her to her bed.
“Thank you,” she says softly when I place her on the soft velveteen of the grey couch. I look around for a blanket but the only thing nearby is a scratchy-looking wool throw, so I find her bedroom and return with a softer dark green blanket and a pillow. She settles in when I lift her head and put the pillow underneath. Her eyes flutter closed. “Mmm, sleep is the best invention ever. There’s room here if you want to try it,” she says, patting a three-inch space that most definitely wouldn’t accommodate another person. And I need to leave before I cave and snuggle in next to her.
“Thanks, but I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Early. Before you and the roosters,” she says, her voice dreamy and half-asleep. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
I pull the throw blanket from the end of the couch and lay it over her. I can’t do much more for her without helping her out of her clothes and I’m not about to step over that line. “Do you have an alarm set on your phone?” I look at her for an answer, but she doesn’t respond. She’s already asleep. Gorgeous, with a faint smile still on her lips, hair splayed on the pillow.
I have to force myself to look away. And take the damned high road, which feels awfully fucking steep right about now.
11
Linden
Things look slightly better in the morning, even though my head smacks with a hangover. The tequila drinking was definitely stupid. Then there’s the vaguely horrifying memory of throwing myself at Jack at the bar which lingers in my mind. I’m a little surprised that I don’t remember exactly what led to me shoving my tongue in his mouth, but I recall every bit of the kiss. It was perfection. But, for fuck’s sake, what was I thinking?
The only thing to do now is hold my head up at work, thank him for the ride and move on without discussing anything about last night. Minimize it, and maybe it will be insignificant.
I’m short on sleep because I set an early alarm in order to read Jeremy’s book. I didn’t finish, but I think I get the gist of what it’s about—the passion I need to do this job right—and I need to work harder to find that story I can’t let go. I’m determined.
I skip my spin class, but by the time I get to my desk, I am in possession of large coffee, this time courtesy of the office coffee room. I make sure to arrive by a quarter to eight. Other than Jeremy, who is reading three newspapers at his desk, I think I’m the first one here.