I glance down at my heeled blue suede boots and shake my head. It spins in response, which sends all of my senses into a tailspin. I throw my hands out to steady the walls, feeling like I might throw up. “These shoes would never hurt me,” I slur, knowing I’m right because Elvis would never steer me wrong.
Shaking his head, Brody returns his attention to the stage where a female duo is wrapping up their version of Wind Beneath My Wings.
It’s at that moment that the chair slides out from under me.
I screech as I begin falling, but before anyone at the table has time to react, a pair of strong arms catch me just in the nick of time. I’m so happy I didn’t break my ass that I cling to my savior like a bur.
Until I realize who is holding me.
Black-as-midnight eyes glare back at me, as though I’ve done something to personally offend him, and I shove out of Professor Scott’s arms, rolling awkwardly to my feet. He’s such a gentleman, though, that he refuses to relinquish his hold on my arm until he’s certain I won’t make a repeat performance.
“What are you still doing here?” I brush any dirt I may have picked up from my clothes.
“I think the question is what are you still doing here? How many drinks have you had tonight? Because I counted seven.”
Well, what’s the point in asking if he’s just going to answer for me? I lift my chin a little higher. “I know my limit.”
He leans closer, placing his lips against my ear. “Yeah? Then why are you swaying on your feet right now?” As if to prove his point, the room tilts and I pitch sideways. Grasping my arms, Professor Scott holds me upright. Which is good, because I am pretty sure my legs have turned to rubber.
Maybe he has a point.
“Come on, you’ve had enough for tonight. I’ll drive you home.”
“I’m not ready to go home yet. I have a performance and I can’t miss it.”
“The only performance in your future is climbing into bed and sleeping it off.” Focusing on something over my head, Professor Scott says, “We’re heading out.”
Baffled, I turn to see who he is speaking to and see Brody nod in agreement. “Cool. I’ll have someone follow me over in the morning to drop off her car.”
“Wait, you two know each other?” I ask, fighting through the alcohol-induced fog.
“Who, Ransom?” Brody asks as he abandons his chair to join us at the end of the table. “He’s the art teacher.” He says this as if everyone knows this, which maybe they do. The man is gorgeous. You’d have to be dead not to notice him.
Ransom. So that’s his name. It’s… hot. Dangerous, just like I know him to be. I wonder just how much Ransom has told Brody about us. But the fact that Brody isn’t beating his face in right now suggests not a lot.
“He’s gonna take you home, okay, kid?” Brody’s massive hand lands on top of my head and gives it a little shake. Hair falls in my eyes, and I shake him free in annoyance. “I’m gonna need your keys before you go.”
“My keys? What if I say no?”
Brody gives me his trademark crooked smile that says he finds me funny. “You’re wasted, and I already made the arrangements. Do me a favor and cooperate for once. I’ll make sure your car is waiting for you when you wake up tomorrow.”
I’m not sure how I feel about him going behind my back, but the alcohol is starting to get to me and I don’t think to question it further. My chest constricts at how nice Brody is to me. He’s such a good guy. It literally brings a tear to my eye. I sniff and wipe it away as I hand over the keys. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Not unless she asks me to.” Smirking, Brody pulls me into a quick hug and then hands me back to Ransom. “I don’t care if she asks you to, don’t hurt her. Got it?”
“You have my word.”
***
I don’t live far, and Ransom has no problem following my directions. Surprising considering I can’t quite remember how to get home right now. With a hand on my arm to help steady me, he walks me to my door and uses my keys to let me inside.
“Thanks for seeing me home safely,” I say as I step inside and feel around for the light switch.
“Do you need any help with anything before I go?”
Looking back at him, the slight frown Ransom wears confuses me. I’m not sure if he was hoping I’d tell him no so he can leave, or if he wants me to ask him inside. “I’ll be fine,” I assure him. It’s probably best that he leave anyway. There is nothing cute about being drunk, and I am pretty sure I’m going to be worshiping the porcelain god soon.