Page 33 of The Breaking Point

“Sure it is, if you really want it to be. And I’m not your darling.”

He seemed unaffected by that answer. “Baby—”

“I’m also not your baby.” I got up, but for some weird reason, the floor was way closer than I expected. I giggled, grabbing hold of the barstool as another guy grabbed my arm to help me up.

“I’m fine,” I slurred, brushing the other guy away. “I’m fine. Why does everyone think something is wrong with me? It’s annoying.”

I staggered to a nearby booth. I then fell sideways onto the leather, laughing like a lunatic. The world kept spinning.

God, I was drunk. I never drank like this. But it felt nice. I was happy. I didn’t care that I’d broken up with my boyfriend or that I wanted a hockey star who didn’t give two shits about me.

Brady. What was he doing right now? He was probably fucking some girl. He did that a lot. It was annoying.

I pulled out my phone and texted him, telling him he should stop fucking all the girls. He’d probably get chlamydia. I giggled as I tried to spellchlamydia. My phone struggled to figure out how to autocorrect my spelling attempts.

wear a condam,I texted.condem condom? what?

Then I sent him a whole bunch of eggplant emoji because those were hilarious.

I kept texting Brady until he replied. Well, he called me. I picked up and said happily, “Brady!”

“Where are you?” he demanded. He sounded mad.

I pouted. “You sound mean,” I accused.

He sighed. “How drunk are you? No, don’t tell me. Just tell me where you are.”

I told him even though I didn’t understand why he wanted to know. Unless he was going to come buy me some more drinks.

“I really, really like vodka cranberries,” I told him. “You should get one.”

“Don’t fucking move. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Then he hung up. I frowned. I didn’t know what was up with Brady. He was acting so weird lately.

I must’ve dozed off because suddenly, I felt hands on me. I tried to jump up, but the table was in the way. I let out a little screech before I realized Brady was the one touching me.

“It’s you!” I threw my arms around him. “You’re here!”

“Jesus, Grace, what the fuck?” He sighed and then picked me up in his arms. “I’m taking you home. Wait, no, if your parents see you like this—”

“My parents aren’t home.” I’d totally forgotten that they were out of town for their anniversary. I could’ve been drinking at home. I started laughing like an idiot. “They’re not home!”

Brady just shook his head. “I’m taking you home,” he said firmly.

I didn’t want to leave my car behind, but Brady assured me he’d take care of it. And it wasn’t like I could drive it. I wasdrunk. Smashed. Hammered. All the adjectives.

Brady parked in the driveway. I opened my door to get out, only to find myself on the concrete, my knee suddenly hurting.

“Ow! What the—”

“Grace, are you okay?” Brady crouched next to me. “I was going to help you out, you idiot.”

“Rude. You’re rude.” I poked him in the chest.

“Sorry. You’re not an idiot. You’re just drunk.” He helped me to stand, but I was still wobbly. He proceeded to lift me into his arms again and carry me inside.

It was nice, being in his arms. He was so warm—and strong. He carried me like I weighed nothing. He also smelled nice.

---