Page 36 of Holly Ever After

“I can microwave like a champ,” I shoot back.

“And here I thought you were just good for heavy lifting and scowling.”

“See? I'm a man of many talents. But in all seriousness, you deserve someone who values you, who gets you. Adam clearly didn't, or he wouldn't have done what he did.”

She's quiet for a moment, staring into her empty glass as if it holds the answers to life's most complex questions.

“You're unexpectedly wise for a man who thinks a five-course dinner involves different flavors of chips,” she teases, but the smile she gives me is genuine, and in that moment, I feel like we've crossed some invisible line.

Yeah, we're definitely playing with fire here. But damn, what a good burn it is.

Fourteen

“Hate...whiskey,” Holly groans, her voice echoing off the porcelain.

“No more whiskey for you,” I affirm, securing her hair back as she heaves again into the toilet bowl.

She glares at me weakly, her eyes bloodshot and desperate. “Stop...lookin’.”

Can’t do that, darling.

Keeping her hair out of the danger zone, I gently rub circles on her back. Her breaths come out in ragged bursts between her low groans and occasional dry heaves. Honestly, I've never seen someone so small produce so much...well, you get the picture.

“I think I’m done,” she mumbles, her head drooping dangerously close to the toilet seat.

I scoop her up, placing her gently on the vanity. I make sure to keep a stabilizing hand on her as I reach for a washcloth and soak it in warm water.

She doesn't fight me, probably too exhausted to even keep her eyes open, let alone object. As I gently dab the cloth against her forehead, I can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Stop laughing at me,” she mumbles, her words slightly slurred, eyelids fluttering as she fights against sleep.

“Not laughing at you. Laughing with you.”

She cracks an eye open, regarding me with an unimpressed stare. “M’not laughing.”

“I beg to differ. I saw a smirk.” I continue to wipe her face gently with the cloth. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, but beneath that, I catch a glimpse of the embarrassment coloring her skin.

“Asshole,” she murmurs, her eye slipping closed again, but there's no real heat behind it.

I put toothpaste on her toothbrush and hand it to her.

I knew she was tipsy at the bar, but I didn’t realize until the ride home when she started singing—no butchering—her version ofBohemian Rapsody, just how drunk she had got.

I feel her eyes on me as I run the cloth over her forehead and down her neck before handing her a glass of water to rinse her mouth.

She waves her hand. “Look away.”

“You puked like you were possessed by Satan, but you won’t let me see you spit out your toothpaste.”

“Look. Away. Sean.”

I do and turn back just in time to catch her before she tumbles off the vanity.

“You’ve got—” She hiccups. “You’ve got amazing bone structure.” I hold back another laugh as she reaches out and runs her fingers across my jaw. With her touch, the smile drops from my face. Instead, all I can focus on is how her fingers are creating a trail of fire across my skin. “I hate how handsome you are.”

“Yeah, well, I hate how beautiful you are too,” I tell her, rinsing the cloth.

“Why do you always look out for me?”

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