Page 81 of Love Me Stalk Me
But I don't.
I let her stay close.
Amanda, as expected, gets drunker. Halfway through the night, she ditches us to make out with Ramirez.
Izzy and I stay in the booth, surrounded by my guys, chatting about nothing. At some point, I feel her head drop slightly against my shoulder.
I glance down. She's half-asleep, eyes barely open. Her margarita is still half-full, condensation dripping onto the table.
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face.
I already know what I'm about to do. I turn to her, speaking low. "Come on. We're gonna go get your car."
She blinks up at me sleepily. "Hmm?"
She furrows her brows, like she's about to argue. Then she closes her eyes again.
And that's my answer.
I slide out of the booth, pulling her with me.
And I already know?—
There's no way in hell I'm letting her take an Uber home in this state.
No way in hell I'm letting her get into a stranger's car. And no fucking way that I'm letting anyone else take care of her.
She's mine tonight.
We walk out of the restaurant. Well, walk is a strong word because Izzy is not walking in a straight line. We make slow progress, but we finally make it back to the store and down the elevator.
Her heels click against the concrete of the parkinggarage as she sways slightly, gripping my arm. The garage smells of exhaust and cold concrete, our footsteps echoing in the nearly empty space.
"I think..." she sighs, leaning heavily against me. "I had too many margaritas."
"You don't say," I mutter, guiding her toward her car.
She giggles, the sound light and unguarded, like it snuck out before she could stop it.
I shake my head, a grin tugging at my lips. "I'm driving."
She pouts, but it lasts for all of two seconds before I open the passenger door and help her in. Her hair falls in front of her face, and before I can think better of it, I brush it back, tucking the loose strands gently behind her ear.
She freezes for half a second.
Then she smiles at me, slow and syrupy, eyes half-lidded.
"You're so nice to me, Cal."
I ignore that, because I have to.
"Seatbelt."
She hums, fumbling with it, her coordination shot from the tequila.
I watch her struggle for a full five seconds before sighing and leaning in, pulling the strap across her myself. The belt makes a smooth sound as it extends, clicking into place near her hip.
She blinks up at me, lips slightly parted.
