Page 29 of Snake

“No!” she cried again. “I needa pay. I needa make a tip. M’a verrrry goo’ tipper.”

Working to keep her upright under one arm, Cox pulled his wallet and dropped a Ben on the bar. Then, because she’d been drinking top-shelf all night, and he didn’t know how much that added up to, he added a fifty.

“Too much, Cox,” Vince said, pushing the fifty back.

“Keep it.” He put his wallet away.

Autumn swung around, and he almost lost her. “Yeah, keep—m’a verrry goo’ tipper!”

Now Vince was laughing. He drew the bills to him. “Thanks, man. And you try to get through the night okay, miss.”

Cox tried to figure out a way to keep a strong hold on Autumn and also keep her on her feet as they walked together, but by the time they were out of the bar, he knew it was hopeless. She had to be close to a foot shorter than him, and the angle was awkward as hell. Also, she was reeling so badly she kept sagging in his hold.

Yep. Fuck.

He swung her into his arms.

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~oOo~

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She’d fought being carried at first, but without much gusto. Then she settled in, dropped her head to his shoulder, and hooked an arm over his neck. With her slight weight draped over both his arms, it was no strain to carry her, even after she drooped into semi-consciousness.

Fortunately, they’d left the bar during the typical weeknight lull between eleven and midnight—all the daytime and dinner activities had ended and those folks were buttoned up at home, and the night creatures were still partying indoors. There was almost no traffic on the road. One truck rolled by but didn’t acknowledge Cox in any way, and he didn’t see enough of it in the dark to know if it was familiar.

As he carried her along the shoulder of the road, she snuggled in tight, humming small moans like purrs. He felt her nose and lips on his throat, nuzzling.

“Smell yummy,” she sighed, and Cox felt the hot, wet point of her tongue at his jawline. Something low inside him clenched and released.

He drew to a stop and tipped his head back, trying to see her face.

Her eyes were closed. “Autumn,” he said.

Her lids fluttered open, and she gazed up at him hazily. “Hmmm?” One hand released its clench at his nape and slipped forward to stroke his beard. “Mmmmm. Soft.”

She pressed on his head and neck, urging him closer. He neither understood nor liked the impulse, but he couldn’t resist it. He let her draw him to her, and her sigh brushed across his mouth as their lips touched.

Cox went into the kiss as if to satisfy a latent curiosity, to put a question to rest, but when Autumn pressed her mouth more tightly to his, opening to invite him in more deeply, he almost forgot everything but the kiss. Something about holding her like this, cradled completely in his arms, completely in his control, his care, laced the moment with a want deeper than he had known he could feel.

If she hadn’t tasted so strongly of Jameson, he might have forgotten himself entirely.

But she did taste of Irish whiskey, and it made a drumbeat in his head: she’s drunk, too drunk, you’re a fucking asshole for even going this far. You don’t even like her, you bastard.

He wasn’t sure that last part was as true as it had been before tonight. But it was the thought that finally pushed him out of the kiss.

She blinked blearily up at him, confused.

“Let’s get you back to the inn,” he said and returned to the task of carrying her through town.

Just as he crossed Willow Street, Autumn struggled in his arms, like she was trying to sit up.

“Hey, easy,” he said, working to keep hold of her.

“M’house’s down tha’ way,” she mumbled.

“What?”

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