Page 61 of Never Let You Go

He tilts his head, his hands still on my elbows holding me away from him. “Let’s put you to bed.”

My insides sink a little, but I soldier on. Tonight or never. “I like you very much. And I think you might like me a little bit too?” I bite my bottom lip and lift an eyebrow in what I hope looks like a question.

He tucks a stray hair behind my ear, and I lean into his hand. “You’ve had too much alcohol to know what you really like right now, Alexandra.”

See? Perfect gentleman. So infuriating.

“I’m not in-ebriated. I’m un-inhibited. See? I can say long words. I’m perfec’ly functional.” The bakery tilts around me, but my knight in shining armor is there to stabilize me, his hands on my shoulders.

Oh my god. I really am drunk. What an embarrassment. Tears pool in my eyes. “I’m sorry.” I try to turn around to take the stairs and have to steady myself on the wall. My stomach feels queasy.

Christopher scoops me up in his arms. “Hold on. I got you.”

I hold onto him, like he asked me to. One hand around his shoulders, the other fisting his Henley shirt. Isn’t that the funniest? I start laughing hysterically.

“Shhhh. You’re gonna wake Skye up,” he says, chuckling as we reach the second floor.

I turn my head against his chest to muffle my laughter and damn it’s nice there. It smells… comforting and exciting at the same time.

It feels safe.

My hands take on a life of their own and wrap themselves around his neck. His muscles roll under my palms, and my thumbs explore his jaw. The stubble does a nice little thing to my core. “Mmm… it’s nice,” I whisper.

His answer? A growl.

“My grandmother was wrong. Men don’t always bring misery,” I say and snuggle deeper in his arms.

But then he sets me down, and the second he does and I find myself on my feet in my bedroom, the whole universe around me swirls and my stomach decides to take a part in the dance. “What did she say?” he asks.

“Never mind.” I stumble to the bathroom, somehow have the presence of mind to close the door, and drop to my knees in front of the toilet.

That’s my price to pay for overindulging.

And I’m fine with that.

What is not fine, and I mean not fine at all, is the door opening.

And Christopher walking in—I can see his jeans.

I wave him off. “I’m fine.” Oh god just please, please go away.

But Christopher’s hand threads through my hair to hold it back. “Come on, baby, let it all go.”

Can I please die now?

My stomach revolts against the injustice of it all.

He places one hand on my forehead while I retch repeatedly.

My nose stings as vomit makes its way through it, while the warmth of Christopher kneeling right behind me sends a confusing signal to my body. “Please leave,” I whimper between two liquid spurts. “Please.”

Is it too hard to understand I really, really don’t want him to see me like this?

His hand just gets stronger on my forehead, the other knotting my hair tighter around his fist. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re better. You might as well let it all out. Come on. Keep going.”

He holds me for what will be forever etched as the longest, most shameful minutes of my life.

But at the same time, god his hand feels good.

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