Page 44 of Just Let Go

He let out a stream of air. “I can walk.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She reached into his coat pocket, hoping to find his keys, trying to ignore the close proximity of his ridiculously muscular body.

“What are you doing?”

She reached into the other pocket. “Looking for your keys.”

She felt—not saw—his grin. “They’re in my pants pocket.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled away, holding out an upturned hand. “Give them to me.”

The frown he put on was apparently meant to match her own. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled the keys out, then stuck them in her hand, and seconds later that mischievous smirk returned. “I can’t figure you out, Quinn Collins.”

“Good.” She walked toward the back door, but quickly realized he wasn’t following her. When she turned around, she saw him standing in the same spot, looking a little disoriented. “What’s wrong?”

“My head is spinning.”

She felt her frown grow deeper. “Can you walk to the car? Wait. You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

His upheld hand saidWait a minute, and she stopped moving. After several seconds, he glanced at her. “I’m good.” He took one step and stumbled forward, the weight of his tightly toned body landing on her. She tried to hold him up, but his fall had caught her off guard; plus, he was twice her size. She peered out the window toward the SUV he’d parked across the street, just a few doors down from the Lucky Lady, Harbor Pointe’s one and only bar.

She could drive that instead of taking her Jetta, but how was she going to get him out there, into the car, and then into his cottage at Cedar Grove? The drive to the edge of town could lull him right to sleep, or worse, he could pass out—and then what was she going to do? She couldn’t leave an unconscious Grady Benson in the car overnight.

Against her better judgment, she wrapped an arm around him and tried to maneuver his bulk through the flower shop and into the back room.

“Where are we going?”

“Will you just try not to pass out? Walk.” She sounded bossy—even she could hear that.

He did as he was told and they made it to the back room, where she pulled open the door that led upstairs to her apartment.

“What’s this? A secret passageway?” Grady sounded equal parts intrigued and sleepy.

“It’s the stairway to my apartment,” she said. “Can you make it?”

He stopped and looked at her, his face perilously close to hers. “Are you going to try to take advantage of me, Quinn Collins?”

She let out a purposeful huff. “You wish.”

“I do wish,” he said, laughing.

She ignored his drunk comment, reminding herself that it absolutely did not qualify as a compliment, and tried to push him up the stairs. “Let’s go, lover boy.”

He laughed again. “I wonder what Quinn Collins’s apartment looks like on the inside. Gotta say, Q, I never thought I’d find out.”

“Well, extenuating circumstances and all that.” This had to be the worst idea she’d ever had. She should’ve shoved him out on the street and gone to bed. But that’s not who she was, not even with someone whose charms she was intent on resisting.

They’d reached the top, and she made sure he was somewhat stable leaning in the corner of the stairway before letting him go. “Don’t move.”

“You got it.” He picked up a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger while she hurried to get the door open.

She didn’t bother telling him to knock it off—he likely wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway.

She pushed open the door and took a couple of steps inside, waiting for him to do the same. He was slow and methodical as he moved, as if there was a slight—or not-so-slight—chance he might collapse at any moment.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you some coffee?”

“You don’t have any beer?”

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