Page 17 of Feels Like Home

“Hi, Andy.” Her voice is quiet, her lips a glossy pink, her eyes sparkling. Everything about her is pulling me to her in thismoment.

“Did you guys drink yourdinner?”

“We aren’t that bad!” She tries protesting but stumbles into my armsinstead.

I catch her,willingly.

“Thanks,” she mumbles into my chest, but I simply tighten my arms aroundher.

“Anytime,” I murmur and inadvertently press my face into her hair, inhalingdeeply.

“Did you just sniff me?” She shifts, looking up atme.

I smile at her. “Idid.”

“And? What’s theverdict?”

“You smell like a tequila factory at the moment.” She laughs so hard she folds herself in half. I have to work to hold her up and bring her closer. “But I have no doubt under normal circumstances that you would smellincredible.”

When she finally stops laughing, she says, still smiling, “How do you knowthat?”

“Because someone as gorgeous as you are couldn’t possibly smellbad.”

“You think I’mgorgeous?”

I cock an eyebrow. “You’re thedefinition.”

“I hope I remember this in themorning.”

“Me, too,” Iadmit.

“What are the chances of that happening, do youthink?”

I hold up two fingers spaced barely apart. “Probably not verylikely.”

She squints and huffs out an angry breath. “Remindme?”

“Ofcourse.”

And that it isn’t a lie. I have no problem reminding her every single day that she’s gorgeous. That realization should havemestumbling. I’m not divorced yet, though the papers are ready to be served. I shouldn’t be having these types of thoughts and feelings for another woman. But they’re there, and I can’t denythem.

“Come on, let me drive you home. I’ll come get you in the morning so we can get yourcar.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling into her driveway. Christine is snoring in the passenger seat of my pickup, her head resting against the window. No doubt she’ll be hurting in the morning. I reach across the console, jostling her arm a little, hoping to wake herup.

“Christine, we’rehome.”

She mumbles, shifting in her seat, and brings her hands up under her head while pulling her legs up under her, getting morecomfortable.

I bite back a laugh while I continue to try waking herup.

“Sweetheart.” I nudge her on the shoulder. “We’re at your house. Time to get up,sleepyhead.”

She sits up quickly, looking around like a frightened puppy. “Where the hell am I?” she shouts then grabs her head andgroans.

I chuckle at her confusion. “I drove you home from El Charro. You had just a tad too much to drinktonight.”

She looks over at me, clarity seeming to take over. “Oh.”

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