Page 45 of Last Boy

Watson wasn’t lying. She’s pretty fucking drunk.

And that’s just my observation from across the room, watching her sway to the music with her eyes closed. She’s not with dudes though, but surrounded by other chicks. But the way she moves, the swinging of her body, it’s blatantly obvious she’s intoxicated.

She’s still so beautiful, even if she isn’t in her right mind. There’s always a slight frown on her lips, but right now…it’s gone. And the corners of her lips are turned up. She’s either happy or she’s just feeling the liquor a little too much. Either way, her cheeks are red, and her hair is no longer in a neat bun, but flowing over her shoulders, flying in every direction as she sways.

I nurse my beer, continuing to monitor her. This is her night. The Nutcracker has meant everything to her since the first time we watched it. And now, she was in the show, performing for all the people in the Brooks area. And she’s having fun. So, until some sorry motherfucker walks up to her, I’ll sit my ass here and just observe her beauty.

“Figured you’d show up about the time I mentioned your old lady was getting hit on,” Gentry drawls, taking the stool beside mine. “Also, I give her about fifteen minutes, and she’ll be puking her guts out.”

“How much did she drink?” I scowl at him. “And why’d you let her?”

“Uh, well, let’s see…she’s not my responsibility. And, oh yeah, I suggested she take it easy, and she told me to piss off and fuck a couch. So…I sort of just walked off.”

“She’s pretty spicy,” I mutter, glancing at him. “I figure I’ll let her have her fun for a little while longer. She’s had a rough few weeks.”

Bringing his beer to his lips, he takes a sip. “Yeah. I heard that Huff’s dealer, who died, was her brother. That really sucks, man.”

Turning my attention back to Poppy, I sigh. “It does. But right now, she looks happy.” I swallow. “I don’t want to cut the night short. Because, to be honest, Gentry…she doesn’t get to be happy very often. I fucking love it when she smiles.”

He’s silent for a moment before tapping his bottle to mine. “Ryann does this thing where she smiles at people to be polite, but it’s not a true happy smile. When I get to see her, like, really smile, fuck, man, it makes everything else in the world not matter one bit.” He clasps his hand on my shoulder. “Make her smile more, man. Be the reason why she smiles.”

“Trust me, I’m trying,” I mumble just before one of Brooks’ top basketball players, Victor Jacobs, approaches her.

As soon as he dips his lips close to her ear and speaks, her eyes fly open, and she stares him down. Getting up from my stool, I vaguely hear Watson laugh before he mutters something. I don’t stop to ask him what he said because my girl is drunk. And as far as I’m concerned, that asshole can back the fuck up.

“No thanks,” I hear her voice yell over the music. “I’m here with friends.”

“Come on, beautiful. One drink.” He gives her his best grin, leaning a bit closer. “And if you don’t want to hang out with me after that…I’ll leave you alone.”

“Um…” She looks nervous but takes a few long blinks, clearly feeling the effects of whatever she drank.

“She’s had enough for tonight, thanks,” I grumble, stepping between them and tucking my arm around her waist. “Let’s get you home, babe.”

She snorts before slapping the palm of her hand against my chest. “Walker motherfucking James. In the flesh.” She laughs harder, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Always here to saaaave the day!”

Victor’s eyes widen as he looks her up and down. “Yeah. She’s, uh…all yours.”

Once he walks—no, scurries—away, she belts out another laugh. “Look, you scared my friend away!” She pokes her lip out. “Big, scary Walker James.” She drives her finger into my abdomen, talking in almost a baby voice. “No one wants to piss you off, big fella.”

“Good,” I utter. “I’m fucking glad.” Putting my arm around her, I angle her face up at me. “I’m taking you home. You’re drunk, and you need to sleep this off.”

“Soooo bossssy,” she whispers, now touching her finger to my lips. “So cute though. My little grouchy cutie pie.”

She stands on her tippy-toes, moving her face closer to mine. “Are you going to take me…home? You know, home. Wink, wink.” She attempts to wink but instead squints one eye before blinking both.

Suddenly, she frowns. “I don’t feel that good.” She gazes around. “Whoooa, the room is spinning.”

Scooping her up in my arms, I push through the crowd. Tonight has been a good night for her. The last thing she needs is people videoing her puking all over Club 83 and posting it on social media or some shit.

When I pass Watson at the bar, who now has Ryann between his legs, he holds his hand up and waves at the same time Ryann’s eyes find Poppy, and she cringes.

“She’ll be fine,” I assure her before she can say anything. “Y’all have a good night.”

Pushing through the door, I head to my truck and gently set her inside on the passenger side. Once she’s in the seat, I stretch the seat belt over her chest and click it into place. Her head hangs forward, making all of her beautiful, thick dirty-blonde hair fall over her face.

Gently, I push her hair away from her face and dip my head closer. “Let’s get you home, Poppyseed.”

Before I can back away, her hand grabs my forearm. “I got drunk because I kept wanting to call you.” She hiccups. “I thought…I just need to drink enough to not think about Walker freaking James for one night of my life.” Her eyebrows pull together, and she’s somewhere between laughing and crying in her drunken stupor. “All I do is think about you. And I’m tired. I’m tired of it. So, if you could please just get out of my brain so that I can go back to my life, that’d be great,” she slurs, swaying her head back and forth.

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