Trust in Me(89)
“I feel hot.” Our gazes met and she smiled. “Your eyes are really beautiful, you know that?”
“I think that’s the shots of tequila talking. Come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
Reaching down, I threaded my fingers through hers. The last thing I wanted was for her to fall and break her neck. Once inside her warm apartment, her fingers spasmed around mine.
“You’re missing the fight,” she said.
“So I am.” I led her around the couch and tugged her down. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” She ran her hands over her thighs. “Your friends are probably wondering where you are.”
I leaned back, getting comfortable. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
A brief smile crossed her lips as she sat forward and then glanced back at me. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. The fight and the friends weren’t as important as the one sitting next to me. Besides, I was a little concerned about her alcohol intake, especially when she jumped up and almost ate the coffee table.
“Maybe you should sit down, Avery.”
“I’m okay.” She stumbled around the coffee table. “So . . . what did you want to do? I can, um, turn on the TV or put a movie in, but I don’t have any movies. I guess I can order one from—”
“Avery, just sit down for a little while.”
She picked up a pillow and placed it on the couch. I guess she was going to start cleaning the house? But then she went to the moon chair. “You don’t think it’s hot in here?”
“How much did you drink?”
“Um . . .” Her face screwed up. “Not much—maybe like two or three shots of tequila and two beers? I think.”
“Oh wow.” I grinned as I scooted forward. “When’s the last time you’ve really drank?”
“Halloween night.”
I cocked my head to the side. “I didn’t see you drink Halloween night.”
“Not this past Halloween night.” Back on her feet, she started tugging on the sleeves of her sweater. “It was . . . five years ago.”
“Whoa. That’s a long time.” Oh, this wasn’t going to end well. I stood. “You got water in here? Bottled?”
“In the kitchen.”
I headed to the fridge, grabbed a bottle and then returned. “You should drink this.” When she took the bottle, I sat on the edge of the couch. “So that made you, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?”
“Fourteen,” she whispered, ducking her chin.
“That’s really young to be drinking.”
Sitting the bottle down, she fixed her ponytail. “Yeah, you didn’t drink when you were fourteen?”
“I snuck a beer or two at fourteen, but I thought your parents were strict?”
She snickered as she dropped into the moon chair. “I don’t want to talk about them or drinking or Halloween.”
Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out those three things were connected. And it also didn’t take a vivid imagination to picture a young Avery getting too drunk at a party and doing something she came to regret later. At least, I hoped it was that. “Okay.”