Page 88 of Severance

“Yo, DK!” Someone shouts over the music. “Long time no see.”

Dakota swivels toward the noise, his hand still linked with mine.

A tall guy in a Metallica t-shirt disengages from the crowd and inches forward to give my boyfriend a hug. It’s a manly embrace with lots of back patting involved.

When they break apart, Dakota draws me closer and makes an introduction. “This is my girl, Alana.”

“Nice to meet you.” The Metallica guy extends his hand. “I’m Andy.Mi casa es su casa, if you know what I mean?” A smirk tilts the side of his mouth. “You keeping my boy straight?”

I don’t get what exactly he means by keeping Dakotastraight, but I think it’s a good thing, so I smile and shake his hand.

“Let’s get you some real drinks, okay?” He motions for us to follow him toward the kitchen, where we’re handed two shots.

The music playing in the background is heavy, my-ears-are-about-to-bleed kind of heavy. It blends with the voices in the crowd perfectly. The whole house feels like one big quaking box filled with thick clouds of vapor, sweat, and the sharp stench of weed, which worries me because my father will definitely catch the smell.

I’ve never seen Dakota drunk until tonight. The good thing is that he’s a happy drunk. Funny and easygoing and absolutely adorable with his dimples on display and his charisma in full swing. The bad thing is that he’s not going to be able to drive me home now. Or drive at all, for that matter. Or even walk steadily.

I’m contemplating asking Jess to come and get us when Andy hands me another shot.

“I’m good. Thanks.” I shake my head as my palm tightens around the glass he gave me thirty minutes ago. It’s hot against my skin, and my knuckles hurt from holding it for so long, but I don’t want people to look at me strangely because I don’t have anything in my hand. Or more strangely than they already are, probably wondering how the heck I ended up with Dakota Bennett in the first place.

As if sensing my discomfort, he draws me closer and mutters against my temple, “You don’t have to drink anything you don’t want to.” The sharp smell of alcohol on his breath crawls up my nostrils and almost knocks me off my feet.

I nod.

“I’ll make you a cocktail. Come on.” He grabs my hand and we barrel through the room toward the minibar no one’s tending. It’s just a bunch of people buzzing around like bees, looking dazed by the elaborate set-up. My guess is that these people aren’t used to mixing their own drinks.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” I try to reason with him since I’m not confident in his bartending skills. Not when he’s like this, at least.

Dakota pushes his way in and scans the contents laid out before him. “Do you like pineapple?” He turns around and elbows a guy to his left to make more room for me.

I shoot an apologetic smile at the poor dude and step closer. Dakota snakes his arm around my frame and thrusts me into the tiny spot in front of the bar, the length and weight of his body holding me in place and separating me from the madness of the room.

“I’m not that thirsty,” I squeal, my eyes darting around the counter that’s filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes.

“I’m not trying to get you drunk,” Dakota whispers in my ear, grabbing a clean glass from the stack. His voice is a low slur. “I’m not that kind of guy. If I want something from you, I’ll tell you when I’m sober.” He moves against me subtly. There aren’t many layers between us right now, and I can feel every muscle, every breath, and every indecent thought running through his head at the moment. And sadly, I love it. I love that he’s this obsessed in public. They say in wine lies the truth. The fact he still feels the same about me when he’s drunk makes me happy. In a way, it proves he’s not courting me only for my body, although we haven’t even gotten to that part yet.

“Who’s going to drive me home?” I ask quietly as I watch him toss a few pieces of ice into the glass.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call my brother.”

“What about you?” Getting in a car with Mikah is the last thing I want to do.

Ignoring my question, Dakota grabs a small can and waves it in front of my face. “You like pineapple?”

“Yes. Pineapple’s fine.”

He shakes the juice, pops the lid open, and pours the contents into the glass with ice. I almost expect him to miss and spill it all over the counter, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get home safe.” His tone is soft around the edges. He hands me the glass and kisses the back of my head.

“DK? What the hell are you doing here?” a rough female voice calls out of nowhere.

I tear my gaze from my drink and see a girl on the opposite side of the bar. She’s tall and fit, has tons of tats on her arms and neck, and her hair is wild. Acid blue. Long and styled to perfection.

“Hey! What’s up, dude?” Dakota moves behind me, his body sliding against mine.

I don’t dare move.

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