Page 24 of Never Sleigh Never
“Hey, Logan!” Simon calls. “Brie’s your ride.”
Logan squints my way. “My favorite person,” he slurs.
“I’ll need duct tape for his mouth,” I mutter.
“Thanks, Brie. I appreciate it.”
I roll my eyes and amble toward Logan as he rises on wobbly legs. “Alright, let’s get you home. Less talking, the better.”
“You don’t enjoy talking to me?”
“It’s not my favorite pastime.” He sloppily throws his arm around my shoulder, and his fingers tangle in my hair. I wince.
“We’d have a better time if you hated me less.”
“That’s the entire backbone of our relationship.” I flash him a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s go. The sooner I get you home, the sooner I can be away from you.”
We make it two steps before he comes to a screeching halt. “Are you getting frisky with me?” He closes one eye. I’m not sure if it’s a lazy wink or to reduce double vision.
“No! I’m taking you home.”
“No. No.” He enunciates each vowel. “You just touched my ass. You can just ask. I’ll say yes.”
“I did not touch your ass.”
“Yes, you did. Your fingers grazed my right cheek.”
“I assure you, they didn’t.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Oh, it was the stool.”
“Want to ask if the stool wants to take you home?”
“Nah. It only wanted to cop a feel.”
I shake my head but can’t fight the smile that takes over. With his arm draped over my shoulder, the weight of a two-hundred pound retired hockey legend has me nearly doubled over as we exit. On our way through the parking lot, he rambles about Christmas ornaments and wanting to be a good dad. Most of my concentration is on not toppling over. When we reach my SUV, I shove him inside with moderate help from him. I really hope he’s like a baby and the car ride lulls him to sleep, so I don’t have to listen to him. Once I’m seated, I drop my keys into the cupholder and press the ignition button on the dashboard.
“Yuletide Drive. Forty-six,” Logan mumbles.
“I know.”
“Stalking me?”
“Nah. I only stalk people who can form complete sentences.” He says nothing else. Wish come true? He passed out. As I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, he remains silent. Glad I didn’t need that duct tape after all, but that leaves my next challenge. How will I get him inside?
“Why do you hate me?”
So much for silence. I glance at the passenger seat as the passing streetlight briefly lights up the interior. The back of his head is against the headrest. His eyes are closed, and his chin is tilted toward the roof. “You’re drunk. Do you really want to get into this?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You did. I have a feeling if I tell you, you won’t remember it tomorrow anyway. And I really don’t want to repeat myself.”
His head rolls toward me, though his eyes land on my cup holder. “I only hated you because you hated me.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m sure that’s the reason.”
“It is. You hated me so much.” The tires hum over packed snow. For a moment, I think he finally passed out, but then he speaks. “Why are you giving me a ride home?”
