Page 85 of Vegas Heat

“Thanks for helping Gabby. I’ll take it from here,” I say.

“You will not,” Gabby says, poking me in the arm. “I wanna stay.” She attempts to pull her elbow out of my grip, but it’s a weak effort since her bones are the equivalent of jelly after the amount of alcohol she’s consumed.

“Yeah, I will. Let’s go.” I grab her hand to pull her along, and she stumbles behind me—not because she’s trying to escape my grip, but because she’s so drunk.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

I lace an arm around her waist and help her walk toward the table where her friends are. I pull my wallet out and toss a hundred dollar bill on the table. “For her drinks,” I say. “I’m taking her home.” I zone in on the Spongebob jackass and lean in with a low hiss. “And if you ever treat her like this again, you’ll answer to me.”

He looks like he might be shitting himself as I straighten and help Gabby out of the bar toward my truck.

CHAPTER 11: COOPER

Maybe she would’ve been fine to rally, but I wasn’t about to let her sit back down with that idiot kid. I realize they were just having a good time. It was innocent enough, and if it was any other girl aside from Gabby, I wouldn’t have cared much at all.

But it wasn’t.

It wasmygirl he was touching. Nobody touches my girl.

Except…she’s not mine. Because of me and my decisions.

That doesn’t mean I want her any less than I’ve always wanted her.

A stab of guilt plows into me. Did I just make her leave a good time with her friends to get her away from the douchecanoe?

I keep telling myself I did it because she barfed in the bathroom of a bar. Nobody wants to get sick on a night out with friends, and once the vomit comes, that’s always a sure signal the night’s over.

“You’re an asshole,” Gabby says as I navigate toward home. Her eyes are closed and she’s leaning her head on the cool glass of the front passenger window. She didn’t exactly fight me when I put her in the front seat of my truck. I grabbed an old blanket I keep in the back in case she has to puke again. It’s better than puking all over my leather seats, I guess.

“That’s fine,” I mutter. She can beat me up all she wants. It’s not worse than what I’m doing to myself.

“I hate you. I hate that your truck smells just like you.” She’s grumbling, and she’s nearly passed out.

“I love you,” I whisper when I know she won’t hear me.

My chest aches with regret.

It’s a short drive, and she’s out by the time I pull into Troy’s circular drive. I walk over to the passenger side and open the door slowly since she’s passed out against it. I lean in and unbuckle her seatbelt, and then I heave her into my arms and carry her into the house.

Troy is in the living room, the first room off the entry, when he sees me carrying his daughter through the house.

“What the fuck?” he demands when he spots us. He jumps to his feet and tosses the tablet he was working on to the side.

“She was out with the intern kid in the Spongebob shirt and some other kids,” I explain. “I ran into her at the bar. She drank too much, so I brought her home.”

“Jesus, Coop. Thanks for looking out for her. Is she okay?”

I nod and don’t say anything, and then I carry her up the stairs to her room. I lay her on the bed, and Troy is right behind me. I want to stay with her, to pull off her shoes, to watch her sleep, to make sure she’s okay, but her father’s here now.

It’s not my job anymore.

“You’re a good man,” Troy says as he starts pulling her shoes off. “The best. Thanks for what you did tonight. I won’t forget it.”

“It was nothing,” I say softly, gazing down at the girl I somehow have come to love more than anything in the world. My heart squeezes. Can this really be it for us? “Just saw a girl in trouble and handled it.” The words feel thick around the lump in my throat.

“Are you in for the night?” he asks.

I nod.

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