Page 83 of Love Me Stalk Me
She mumbles something incoherent as I step out and walk around to her side. When I open the door, she blinks up at me, confused. "Are we home?" she asks, her voice soft and sleep-heavy.
Home.
Something about the way she says it makes my chest clench. I clear my throat. "You are. Come on."
She reaches for me without hesitation, arm looping around my shoulder as I haul her out of the car. She presses close—pliant, radiating heat—her body folding into mine like she belongs there.
She lets out a contented sigh. "You're comfy."
I snort. "Glad I could be of service."
I help her up the steps to her apartment, half-carrying her when she stumbles. Her building is one of the older ones in the neighborhood, with high ceilings and ornate moldings visible through thefoyer windows. Then, just as I'm about to unlock the door for her, she suddenly stops and looks up at me with those big, tequila-bright eyes.
"Wait. How'd you get here?" she asks, swaying slightly. "Did you drive?"
"I drove your car," I remind her patiently.
She frowns, her brow furrowing adorably. "But how are you getting home?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead. "I'll call an Uber."
"Where's your car?"
"I don't have a car," I reply.
Her eyes widen. "You just WALK everywhere?"
I resist the urge to pat her head. "No. I have a bike."
She scrunches her face. "Like, with pedals?"
I chuckle. "No. Like with an engine."
Her eyes widen. "You have a motorcycle?"
"Yeah. A Ducati."
Then suddenly she sighs dramatically.
"What is it?" I ask her.
She points at me unsteadily. "Amanda said you had to ride something dangerous. She bet me twenty dollars. I just lost twenty dollars."
"And what exactly did you think I drove?"
She waves her hand dismissively, nearly losing her balance in the process. "Details, details." Then her expression shifts, suddenly serious in that exaggerated way drunk people get when they've just had an important thought. "My Nonna would have a heart attack if she knew I was friends with a guy on a death machine."
I bite back a laugh. "Death machine?"
"That's what Nonna calls them." She nods solemnly, then reaches up to pat my cheek. Her touch lingers on my skin. "Gonna need to get you Nonna's rosary."
I still. "What?"
"Nonna's special rosary," she explains, leaning heavily against me. "The one with the—the blue beads. S'posed to keep you safe. She gave it to me when I started driving. Always worked for me." She taps my chest with her finger. "You need it more. Death machine guy."
Something in my chest tightens at her drunken concern. "You'd give me your Nonna's rosary?"
She nods again, more emphatically this time. "Course. Can't have you dying on that thing." Her voice drops to a whisper, like she's telling me a secret. "I kindalike having you around, Callahan."
