Page 114 of Wicked Dreams

“Didn’t think I’d ever have a girl fully dressed in my bed.” I laugh to myself. I didn’t think I’d ever take a girl back here. Certainly none from Emery-Rose Elite.

After a long minute, her breathing evens out and her body releases its tension.

I lie beside her, fully awake, until my watch buzzes with the alarm I set.

I wish I could keep Margo with me here. I wish I could sleep. These days, sleep comes infrequently, or in small chunks of time. I content myself with watching her slow, deep breaths for another minute, then sit up.

I put my shoes back on and roll her onto her back.

She doesn’t wake up.

Even when I pick her up and carry her back to the car, setting her in the passenger seat. I lean over her, buckling her in, and gently close her car door.

She stays asleep even after we reach the Bryans’ house. I park at the curb and watch the lit windows on the first floor.

They’re waiting up for her.

I give it another minute, then two. Then ten. If we want to be on time, she has to be inside in four minutes.

Four minutes isn’t going to miraculously sober her up.

I lift her out of the car, and she wakes with a start.

I almost drop her, but she latches on to my neck.

“Where am I?” Her head swings around.

“You were sleeping. And we can’t wait any longer, unless you want to be grounded for an eternity.”

I put her feet on the ground, and her knees buckle. I don’t let her fall, my grip sure. Still, she’s clearly more drunk than anticipated. Even after her nap…

I release a long sigh. “Can you pretend to be more sober?”

“Aren’t I?”

We make our way to the front door, her arm slung around my neck, mine around her waist. I’ve got most of her weight supported, but it would be nice if she could open her eyes the rest of the way.

“Aren’t you what?” I ask.

“Sober.”

I grunt and glance down at her. “Your eyes are closed.”

“I’m just resting them.”

“How about you open them until I can get you up to your room?”

Jesus.

She does, barely, and we make it up the front steps. I open the door and guide her in, pausing when I spot Robert.

He sits in a chair in the living room, a book in his lap.

Margo spots him, too, and cringes. “Uh-oh.”

She might’ve got away with it if she didn’t immediately break character. I’m left holding her up, while her grip tightens on my shirt.

“Are you drunk, Margo?” Robert asks.

---