Page 61 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“Stop? I thought we were just getting started.” His hand moves up her thigh, and she grabs his wrist to stop him. “Why don’t we take our private party upstairs?”

“No. I’m tired. I just want to go home.”

Taking heed of Scott’s advice, I take his hand as calmly as I can and remove it from her leg, then lightly push him to the side. He goes off at me, cussing me out in a rather aggressive tone, but I hear none of it because my sole focus is her.

My eyes lock on hers. “Are you done with this bullshit, or are you still trying to spite me?”

It’s at this point that I realize her stubbornness goes up to a level that I didn’t know existed, because even in her drunken state, she doesn’t give me the satisfaction of a response. She simply stands up, and I have to take that as her answer.

“Alright, let’s go.”

We’re about to walk away when David grabs her wrist. He’s not far behind her on the drunk scale, and he starts to sway as soon as he stands up.

“Hey, I’m not done with her,” he slurs.

“Yeah, you are.”

“C’mon, man. There’s plenty to go around. You can have her right after I’m done.”

Don’t punch him. Don’t punch him.Deep breath.Don’t punch him.

I grab the front of his shirt and shove him back with so much force he crashes into the side of the pool table. The other guys stop playing and a few drinks get spilled in the process. The attention of everyone in the room is pulled in our direction, and I don’t want to cause a scene.

“Just...” I tap my fist against my thigh in an attempt to bring my temper down a notch. “Just stay there.”

I don’t know if he can see the rage in my eyes, or if he can sense how badly I want to hurt him, but that warning is enough to keep him rooted in place when we turn to leave. I keep a firm grasp around her waist as we walk out of the entertainment room, but she pulls out of my grip before we reach the front door.

“Thank you, but I’ll manage from here.”

I stop and do a double-take because...what? “I thought you wanted to go home.”

“I do,” she replies, sounding tired and deflated. “But not with you. I’m going to ask my sister to come get me.”

It takes some deep chanting and calling on my ancestors for patience to keep my tone neutral. I reason with myself that she’s drunk and decide to use logic. “Okay, Bella, your sister’s arm is broken, and she can’t drive. She can’t come get you.”

“She can. She’ll make a plan.”

“Tommy at least has a car. Why don’t you call Tommy?”

“I don’t want Tommy! I want my sister!”

I know from experience that there’s no point in arguing with a drunk person, so I let go of my exasperation and nod. “Fine, call your sister.”

She sways from side to side as she whips out her phone from a small bag slung across her chest and squints to focus on the screen as she types a message. As soon as she’s done, I take her forearm and start walking toward the staircase.

“Hey, Sean,” I call out to him on the other side of the foyer.

“Yeah.”

“Can I use one of the bedrooms upstairs?”

He laughs and nods his head toward Bella. “Finally going to make a move, Dylan?”

“It’s not like that,” I retort.

“No need to get snappy. I’m just messing with you. Down the corridor, second bedroom on the right. That’s the guestroom.”

“Thanks. If you see Scott, let him know where we are.”

---