Page 24 of Studious
“Sure,” I say, and hiccup. How many have I had? More than two? Three? I can feel the wine going to my head, and my stomach is feeling a little lurch-y. The room’s starting to go swirly, too.
I should probably cut it down. Cut it out? Put it down? What am I doing?
With the next glass, I get very friendly. I start telling everyone how happy I am to work here and how it’s just the best place ever. Because it is.
Somehow I’m at the bottom of the glass again.
“Is this one a lightweight?” I hear an amused voice ask.
“Do we need to get him home?”
A really sexy, deep voice says, “I’ll take care of him. Leave him to me.”
And I don’t remember anything else.
CHAPTER6
Danny
Igot to happy hour late, after one last client call, and my gaze immediately homed in on Alden, whose red cheeks and wild hair were a big change from his usual buttoned-up persona. I’m pretty sure he’s not a drinker. I’ve been stuck in a conversation with Reyna about one of our cases—not ideal happy hour talk, but you get a bunch of lawyers together, it’s gonna happen. Once I saw Alden was having some trouble, though, I figured my extensive experience with inebriated people might come in handy.
“I got him,” I tell Shelby. “How much did he drink?”
“Not that much. I think he just isn’t used to it. I can drive him home,” Shelby says. “I wouldn’t want him to be drunk in a Lyft by himself.”
Alden lets out a light snore.
“No,” I say. “Let me. Keep an eye on him while I close up my office.”
Shelby nods.
When I come back, everyone’s gone except Alden, who has his head down on the table, and Shelby, who’s gently stroking his hair.
I get a flash of jealousy for some reason. Even though I know Shelby means nothing by the touch—he likes a different kind of guy—and even though I have absolutely no claim on Alden, nor do I want a claim on any guy. I still growl, “I got it.”
Shelby gives me a weird look. “Well, aren’t you the knight in shining armor.”
I grimace. “Not really. I just know what it’s like to be drunk in a club. Someone needs to take care of him.” I ignore the fact that Shelby was the first one to offer to take care of Alden.
I reach down, about to sling Alden over my shoulder in a firefighter’s lift, but I realize that might make him puke. So I pick him up bride-style and carry him to the elevator.
As we descend and make our way to my car, I get a few looks from other late-leaving workers. Even though it’s nearly eight on a Friday evening, lots of people, especially attorneys, work long hours. “He’s not feeling well,” I whisper. I don’t want to give away that he’s drunk as a skunk, but I suspect I’m not fooling anyone.
I had one beer over an hour ago, so I know I’m fine to drive. No problem.
Well, there’s one problem. I don’t know where Alden lives.
I’m feeling the strain in my muscles as I reach the garage. I prop Alden up against the back door while I open my car.
Once I pour him in, I have to lean over to put on his seat belt. I realize that, under the alcohol, I like the way he smells.
After I get him situated, I fish in my trunk and find a Redweld—the folders we take to court. I dump out the contents and tuck the bucket file under his chin. It will at least collect the worst of it if he needs to ralph on the way home.
I get behind the wheel and let out a sigh.
I’m taking him to my place. I don’t do that, but it’s okay. He’s not a hookup. Besides, he helped me fend off Earl, so I owe him one.
* * *
