Page 51 of Sweet and Salty

“I'll take you home,” I say before I even realize the words are coming out of my mouth. I rise from my chair, sticking close to her because I’m worried she'll top over any moment.

Lyla laughs, letting her phone fall back into her purse. “Seriously?” she asks, turning and swaying slightly on her feet as she looks up at me.

My arms fly to either side of her, not touching her, but ready to catch her.

“Mr. Sour Pants wants to drive me home?”

I furrow my brow. “Did you just call me sour pants?”

“Mr. Sour Pants,” she says with emphasis.

Jim laughs from where he sits behind Lyla, and I glance down, giving him a warning look. He keeps on laughing, and Anne joins in.

I wave the two off, and then nod to Brad and Luna who are chatting in the corner, Zoe and her new guy having disappeared a half hour ago. “Come on,” I say to Lyla, guiding her toward the stairs. “Let me take you home.”

By some sort of miracle, she follows my lead, glancing over her shoulder to wave at her friends.

“Mr. Sour Pants is taking me home!” she says a little loud and a little wild, just enough to make my normal straight face demeanor slip into a smile.

She wobbles on the first stair, and I immediately tuck an arm around her hip, steadying her as we walk down, through the throngs of people in the club, and finally through the front doors.

“Are you going to criticize my food all the way home?” she asks as I hold the passenger door of my car open for her.

I shake my head, helping settle her into the passenger seat, securing her seat belt when she struggles.

I gently close the door, huffing out a laugh as I round the car and get behind the wheel, starting the drive home.

“You know we're going to have to see a lot of each other now,” she says, her buzzed tone so much more apparent now that there's no music blaring around us.

The woman is absolutely wasted, but it's adorable as hell. She’s usually so reserved, unless she's snapping at me for saying something about her food, which I only do because she gets this fire in her eyes like she's lighting up on Christmas morning.

“Is that right?” I ask as I navigate the highway toward home.

“Yep,” she says, her perfect pink lips popping on theP.

I do my best to keep my eyes on the road, no matter how tempted I am to look over at her. She's gorgeous, all fiery spiritcontained in a tiny, irresistible delicate package. Smooth skin, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that have starred in more than one of my favorite dreams lately.

“If we're going to have to plan and host a lot of the prenuptials for Anne and Jim, we're going to have to work together,” she continues. “Are you going to be able to spend so much time with someone you hate?”

Her words bring me up short.

“I don't hate you,” I say, shock drenching my tone, and I spare a quick glance, furrowing my brow at her. Her eyes are closed in what looks like an immediate and necessary power nap.

I shake my head, wondering how she could think that I hate her?

Okay, fuck me, I know I'm a grumpy asshole on the best of days, but people annoy me. There's only a handful of people I can stand, and she's one of them.

I put my eyes back on the road, searching for the right words to explain to her that I'm not always trying to be a dick?—

“I think about your tattoos a lot,” she blurts, causing me to jolt a little at her sudden alertness. I hold back a laugh. She looks like she doesn’t even know she fell asleep.

I exit off the highway, heading back into Sweet Water and making the turn down her street.

“Like this one,” she continues, reaching across the car and running her fingers down the black inked tree that coils around my right forearm. “Does it mean anything or do you just like trees?”

Sparks burst beneath her touch, her fingers as silky soft as I've always imagined.

“I'll tell you when you're sober,” I say as I turn into her driveway, parking and killing the ignition as I get out of the car to open her door for her.

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