Page 32 of Loving You

April banged into the house and stumbled into the wall, muffled laughter and a few choice expletives following in her wake. I set aside my book and told myself to calm the fuck down even though I’d been anxious for the last hour and a half.

Why? Don’t ask me.

I was not this woman’s keeper, and she was out with my sisters-in-law, my mother, and a few of Ellie’s friends for the bachelorette party. But it was after one in the morning, and she’d said that she planned to be home around midnight.

Her lateness had me pacing until I made myself sit down.

When she sauntered into the living room with her sky-high heels, short little cocktail dress, and beamed at me, my heart did something obnoxious in my chest. It flipped, then sank, then sat up like a damn dog ready to shake.

“Well,hellothere, Mr. Walker,” she said, dragging her hand along the back of the couch as she headed for the kitchen counter where she dumped her purse.

Her hair had fallen out of a twist at the back of her head and framed her face. It was the most disheveled I’d ever seen her, including the night she’d shown up here looking like she hadn’t slept in a week.

“Hello there, Ms. Carrigan.” I jumped out of my seat and approached, cataloging the details of her.

I hadn’t been here when she’d left earlier, but as she stood there fiddling with the lid of a water bottle, my inner alarm ratcheted up as each piece of disorder after another showed itself, plain as day.

Mascara, dark under her eyes.

Her lipstick a little messy.

One strap of her dress drooping down over the cap of her shoulder.

I took the bottle from her. “Can I help you with that?”

She huffed. “Would you? It’s defeating me, and I need water.”

“Yeah? You have a bit too much to drink tonight?”

As though I couldn’t tell. She’d been stumbling on her heels and her eyes had that look like she was close to seeing double. Her voice was rough, and her posture was very relaxed—enough so that she was slumping against the counter, and I feared she might topple straight to the ground.

But then she perked up, pointing a finger at me with an exaggerated scowl I might’ve laughed at if I wasn’t fully sober and knew that would mean trouble. “You know what? No. I had exactly the right amount of alcol.Alcol.” She frowned and searched the air for an answer, then held her chin high with royal bearing and said,“Al-co-hol.”

I couldn’t entirely stifle an endeared chuckle at her determination, but quickly grabbed her arm when she teetered to one side and guided her to one of the seats. “So you had just the right amount, huh?”

“I did. Because who does he think he is swaggering intomytown and showing up atmybest friend’s bachelorette party and then he has the nerve towinkat me? Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?”

My heartrate spiked. “What guy? Who was there?”

“Like seriously?Youcan wink at me and it’s like, sexy and cute and makes me all twisty inside, but that asshole can takehiswink and shove it in his asshole ass.”

I coughed, absorbing all of that, before pressing the most important point. “Who ishe?Who winked at you?”

April batted away my question. “But literally,literallythe most hilarious thing happened, okay? So, like, we’re all sitting there—and your mom even did tequila shots with us!—and I’m sitting there like ‘What thefuckis happening right now? I’m doing shots with my mother’s supposed-but-not-really nemesis?’”

She started giggling as though this was hilarious. In her booze-soaked brain, it probably was. Unfortunately, my sobriety made the joke fall flat.

The giggles turned to full on laughter though, and then she rested her head on the island and laughed until she wasn’t making any sound, only moving enough to tell me she was still at it and had simply gone silent.

God, she was adorable and ridiculous, and somehow still appealing even in this state.

I liked being the one to welcome her back and take care of her, even if the fact that she was facing a brutal night and a pretty terrible day tomorrow made it all considerably less fun.

But beyond that, I needed her to stick to one train of thought.

Who was the winking guy? Was he the reason she was staying here and not safe in her own place?

Of course, she hadn’t been comfortable telling me about her situation while sober, so it wasn’t exactly upstanding to press her on it while she was extremely drunk.

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