Page 39 of Lost the Handle

I seeher before I open the door of the Bugatti.

She leans forward on her legs, her eyes on me as tears stream down her face. Her legs are twisted in all kinds of ways that don’t look very comfortable. She looks like a wet cat. Her makeup is all over the place, her eyes dull and full of tears, her clothes barely hanging on.

It strangles my heart to see her like that.

I have no clue why I came. I should have told Flynn to figure it out. He would have gotten her home and into bed. I would have known she was there, and all would have been fine. Problem is, I don’t trust anyone with her. Especially knowing she was crying for me.

I’m a fucking idiot. I know.

If shit blows up in my face, it’s no one’s fault but my own.

I swallow past the emotion lodged in my throat as I close the distance between us. It’s not until I’m close that I see the puke around her legs.

“Why in the fuck is she surrounded by puke?” I snap at Flynn, who comes to stand beside me and looks down at her.

Flynn shrugs. “Better out than in, Mom always said.”

“I highly doubt she said to sit in puke,” I mutter as I crouch down to meet Emery’s glazed gaze. “Hey, Em. How you doing?”

She’s humming “Dial Drunk” and making it really hard not to laugh. Even looking like a drowned cat, she’s fucking stunning. I love the color of her cheeks. Her eyes are all sultry and hooded. Man, I want her. Forcing that thought to the back of my mind, I reach out to take her hand. She looks at it, then me, before threading her fingers through mine. “You came back.”

“Yeah, heard you overindulged.”

Her eyes fall shut as she grins. “I may have druuunk more after you lefttttt, and I lost my phooooone.”

I chuckle lightly at her slurred words. “Can you walk?”

She leans her head on her arm, nodding. “Sure. Give me some time.”

I shake my head, and against my better judgment, I reach under her arms and help her up. I pull her skirt down, then her shirt, before gathering her against my chest. Anger swells in my chest as I realize that people may have been watching her and letting her sit here like that. I have no right, though. Not two hours ago, I told her I didn’t love her. I move my arm beneath her knees and lift her up bridal-style before I look over at Flynn. “You’re a jackass.”

He nods. “Yeah, may have dropped the puck on that one.”

“You think so?”

He gives me a sheepish grin as he hands me Emery’s “lost” phone. “Or I planned the whole thing.”

I roll my eyes, and I don’t doubt him for a second. Emery lays her head against my chest, and I don’t allow myself to enjoy this.

I am helping her home.

This means nothing.

But when Emery sighs deeply, her eyes shut, my armor cracks and falls to the ground in a heap. I look down at her fora moment, taking in the way her lashes kiss her cheeks. How her lips purse as she breathes. How fucking incredible she feels in my arms, and I know for a fact that I need to put her down, rearm myself before I proceed.

Because Emery Brooks means everything.

I feel like I’m on autopilot, or maybe I force myself to be on autopilot, as I get her into the car and head home. She guarantees me that she won’t puke, but I take it slow, just in case. She’s snoring lightly when I park the car. Even if it makes me a creep, I look her over, my gaze licking along her thighs and landing right on her bright-pink panties. My cock swells in my pants, begging to just touch her, but instead, I blow out a breath and force myself to be disgusted by my feelings.

I can’t.

Not for obvious reasons, but more so because of the situation.

Everything is a fucking mess.

I get out, groaning as my cock presses into the zipper of my slacks. I readjust myself and then head to the other side to get her out. She’s a limp noodle as I pick her up once more and carry her upstairs. She doesn’t stir, nor does she make a sound the whole way. Once inside, I kick the door shut, lock it, and take her to her room. It’s a mess in here, true Emery fashion, with clothes, bags, and shoes everywhere. Being as smart as she is, one would think she’d be tidy, but not Emery. Her mind runs a million miles an hour, so everything about her is pure chaos.

I lower her to the bed and reach for her shoes, but then I notice the puke along her legs.

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