Page 136 of A Forgotten Promise

Shit, did I say that out loud? “We’re exploring.”

Cora chuckles. “They are exploring, Lily. Lily?”

Our friend is snoring softly, her head lolling.

“Shit, you got her drunk,” I tell Cora, and for some strange reason it makes me giggle again.

“Me?” Cora looks offended. “I’m pretty sure I only poured the first two.” She sways in her seat.

“Shit. I should go home.”

“Because your honey is waiting.”

“Hell will freeze before Corm Quinn can be called honey.”

Cora snorts. “Yeah, no honeys in Hell.”

“Hey.” I punch… the air since I miss her arm. “You’re right. He’s a devil. My devil.”

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“What?” I jump, meeting the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Disoriented, I look around. I’m in front of Corm’s house. Shit, did I fall asleep in the cab?

I wipe the drool from my face and get out, grateful the ground isn’t moving. Not too much, anyway.

The early evening’s fresh air hits my skin with cool relief. I’m still tipsy—that was a quick death—but the snooze in the car helped me a bit.

It didn’t help with my situation, but I’m not as drunk as I was when I left Cora to deal with Lily. Poor thing. We should have been more responsible with her.

I stumble up the few steps, leaning on the balustrade. I push the door open and trip over the stupid threshold.

“Ouch,” I yelp as my knees hit the tiles.

And finally, my life pushes me down to my knees, ladies and gentlemen. Quite literally. But for whatever reason, my current unflattering position breaks something inside me, and the angst of the last few weeks releases through a snort… or a giggle… or I don’t know what the sound is.

It starts a chain reaction, and I tremble on the floor with a half-laugh and half-cry. The tears are of an alcohol-induced irrational joy, and of desperation.

“Saar.” Corm’s voice comes from somewhere in the house.

My soul melts a little. Itislike honey.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He squats beside me.

I wipe the hair from my face and look at him. Holy shit. His facial muscles are full of tension, a line creasing across his forehead. His face is full of worry.

And blindingly beautiful. It’s like he got even better looking while I was gone. I reach to trace my fingers around the scruff of his rigid jaw. “You’re so beautiful.”

He tilts his head and swears under his breath. “You’re drunk.”

He cups my elbow and tries to help me up. Unfortunately, the floor exudes a super potent gravitational field today. I slip or stumble or something, but the result is that I’m still more horizontal than upright. And hilarious.

God, it’s good to laugh. “I’m not that drunk anymore. I slept in the taxi. Wait… not a taxi—in an Uber. You don’t call it… like when you use the app; do you still call it a taxi? Is taxi a service or the actual yellow car?”

“For fuck’s sake.” He scoops me up bridal-style. “Let me get you to bed.”

“I don’t want to sleep. Let’s sit together on the patio. Maybe you can start the fire.” I grin at him. “I like when you carry me.”

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