Page 12 of So Bad It Must Be Good

“No, that’s not what . . . I don’t need you to pay me,” he said firmly, pushing her hand away from an imminent danger zone. He hadn’t meant he was aware she’d bought a lot of booze. He’d meant he was very aware he was not her date.

His brother was. So any shit going on in his danger zone was his own shit to take care of. After he got the drunk woman currently torturing him safely home.

“But—”

“You are not paying me, so stop trying.” He upped their pace, even though it wasn’t wise with her as stumbling as she was. But at this point, the quicker he got her to his truck, the quicker he could get his hands off her and her hands would be less of a liability, so to speak.

“Here’s my truck,” he said, taking his arm from around her waist. He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Where do you live?”

She blinked at him, swaying slightly on her own two feet. “In an apartment.”

“Where?”

She squinted, taking an unsteady step toward the curb, swaying a little too dangerously toward the edge. She was going to sprain a damn ankle.

Liam gritted his teeth and reached out to steady her. One hand on either hip. Hell. Hell. Hell.

She gave a sigh, her gaze slowly—really slowly, like she was paying very close attention—moved from his midsection to his chest, to his neck, to his beard. She lifted her hand and placed it against his jaw.

He held himself completely still, afraid that if he so much as breathed he’d give away everything. Every moment he’d watched her a little too closely, wished she’d smile at him the way she smiled at Aiden, wished he didn’t turn into some cardboard asshole the moment she glanced at him.

Basically, every moment he’d ever been a pathetic loser. He’d rather do a lot of shitty things than ever let anyone see that.

She leaned closer, her breasts very nearly brushing his chest, and he kept holding himself still, his arms locked, keeping her at a distance. Not a safe enough one, but a distance at least.

“You’re very tall,” she said earnestly.

“And you, honey, are very, very, very drunk.”

She grinned and gave a little breathless laugh. “It’s so funny.” She rubbed her hand up and down his jaw as if she didn’t have any idea what she was doing to him.

She doesn’t, you fucking moron.

“Come on. In the truck.” He led her around to the passenger side and opened the door for her, keeping his gaze averted as he placed his hand on the small of her back and gave her a little shove into the truck.

He closed the door and took a deep breath of the cold spring night, trying to get his head on straight and his brain functioning at some normal capacity because clearly he’d lost it somewhere along the way tonight.

Staying. Talking. Agreeing to things that involved spending more time in her presence.

Yeah, he had to get her home and pray for vodka-aided amnesia.

He climbed into the driver’s side and shoved his key into the ignition. What a day. What a problem. But it was almost over. He just had to get her home.

He glanced over at her, sprawled in the passenger seat, eyes closed, hair a tangled red halo around her head.

“Buckle up.”

She made a muffled sound, bringing her elbows into her sides and waving her forearms around. “Can’t. T. rex arms.” Then she laughed, uproariously, as she kept waving half her arms around and most decidedly not buckling her seat belt.

God was seriously testing him. He reached over and grabbed the seat belt, ignoring the fact that she was still laughing, her soft breath against his neck. He did his best to buckle her in, trying to ignore the fact he could feel her gaze on him.

“Did you know you have a dimple when you smile?” she asked softly.

His gaze locked onto hers, though he shouldn’t have let it. Because his heart beat was unsteady, that usual too tight feeling invading his body.

“It was the first time I’ve ever seen it. In there.” She poked at his cheek. “You could stand to smile more.”

He sat back in his seat and looked out the windshield. “What’s your address?” he muttered.

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