Page 97 of The Best of Us

“Ah, I see.” He drew his thumb along the line of his lips, lips I’d kill to kiss. “Are you sure we’re not still in part-one territory?”

A soft chuckle rolled free along with another hiccup. “Shoot, make that four. Laugh.” I tried to stand, and the room spun, but before I could fall, he was there for the save, helping me back down to my embarrassing throne of a closed toilet seat.

He knelt in front of me, keeping his hands under my armpits. Was he worried I’d fall and knock my head against the claw-foot tub and get amnesia? Huh, that would suck. Finally finding him and then not remembering him might be worse than never finding him at all.

“Maybe you’re right,” I admitted, “and part two is just an exasperated version of it.”

“You can’t be that bad to use a word like that.” He winked, and yeah, the man was much better at that voluntary eye muscle movement than I was.

“Speaking of muscles and movement . . .”

He closed one eye for a brief moment as if not following.

Right, that’d been in my head. “Shoot. I don’t know where I was going with that thought.”

“Funny enough, neither do I.” He chanced moving one hand from under my arm to my face. “Please never drink when I’m not around. Or, at the least, your brother, dad, or Colin. You know, someone who will always have your six.”

“One time at . . . not band camp”—I giggled, unsure if theAmerican Piejoke was lost on him or not, but I’d already moved on to greener (drunker) pastures—“but a bar.” I blinked a few times, trying to remember what we were talking about. “A bar, yes, I was at a bar with Easton and his Air Force friends, and my brother had to punch one of his buddies because he was . . .”

“He was what?” His eyes went wide, and his hand stopped caressing my cheek.

“Colin was home with my dad, the designated babysitter, so I went out. For like the first time in forever, and well, Easton’s friend hit on me, proposing a one-night stand before he deployed.” I hiccuped. “And my brother intervened before I could tell him I wasn’t that girl. I mean, I was with you, but?—”

“Juliette?” he cut off my tipsy (drunk) babbling.

“Yeah?”

“You know I’ve killed people.”

Another unattractive hiccup. “Mm-hmm.”

“Would you like me to kill him?” he asked in a serious tone.

“No, of course not.” I tipped my head to the left, then the right, feeling like a dog staring at their human with “give me food, please” eyes.

“Then maybe don’t mention any man from your past to me.”

His hand moved up into my hair, gently threading through the locks as if he hadn’t just told me he’d kill anyone who even so much as wanted to touch me.

“Your brother. I think I like him,” he said so adorably and matter-of-factly.

“He supports you. Us.” I circled my finger between us. “You being in my life. He said you’d protect us.”

He stopped stroking my hair. “He did?” His forehead tightened.

I confirmed with a small, “Yes,” and his expression relaxed. “Will your family like me?”

“Of course. No doubt in my mind.”

Hmm. Good.“How areyoufeeling, by the way?” I poked his hard chest. “Sober-y or still tipsy?”

He grunted in mock disapproval. “I don’t get tipsy.”

“Right, that does not sound manly at all, and you’re very much aaalllll man. But are you less-ish of whatever it was you were?”

“I’m less-ish,” he said with a nod, his eyes tight on my mouth, and I found myself reaching out to touch his lips.

I swiped the pad of my thumb along the seam of his mouth. “You know, your smile destroyed me, too. I mean that in a good way. Kind of, sort of. You did ruin all men for me.”

---