Page 23 of Resisting the Lawyer (Dirty Hot Resistance 3)

“Can I come in?”

I grip the door a little tighter; suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable while remembering the last time I had been alone with a man when I was drunk. Although, I’m just a bit tipsy at the moment, I’m still scared. “No.”

He freezes at the vehemence of my statement and then his face turns dark as if he’s remembering something. He takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to call you but I couldn’t find my cell. I wanted to ask if you wanted a ride to Kendall and Caleb’s place tomorrow, for the party?”

I stare at his face and wonder why he’s so handsome. Nobody should be this handsome. I feel annoyed and in my haziness, I don’t realize I’ve spoken my thoughts out loud.

The shock on Lucas’ face morphs into a sly grin. “Handsome eh?”

I blush fiercely and promptly close my mouth.

“Just how much have you had to drink?” he asks, curiously.

I suddenly remember that I broke the glass and I feel gloomy all over again. “Three glasses of whiskey.” I look over my shoulder.

He follows my gaze to settle on the shattered glass.

“But I broke the glass. I should get another one.” And without thinking, I leave him standing at the front door and padding over, I’m about to step on the glass to reach the cabinet when I suddenly feel my feet leave the ground, a strong pair of hands picking me up by the waist.

I’m deposited on the couch and I blink dazedly at Lucas, “Wow, you’re strong. Wait, you’re not supposed to come inside.”

He gives me an exasperated look. “I’ll apologize for it later. First tell me where your broom is.”

“In the closet,” I gesture towards the small hall which opens up to the two bedrooms, the kitchen, the bathroom and the tiny closet.”

He stares at me. “Which door?”

“The closet one.” I wave grandly in a random direction.

He sighs. “Don’t move,” he orders.

I don’t like being ordered around in my own house, but I’m a little too drunk to voice a coherent complaint. So, I settle for watching him look through each door until he finds the closet.

In a matter of minutes, he’s cleaning up the glass.

I watch him from over the top of the couch. “What’re you doing?”

He shoots me an unhappy look. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Oh?” I watch him clean up and I admire his lean and muscular form, his forearms attracting most of my attention. He just picked me up with so little effort so he must be really strong.

Finally, he’s standing in front of me. “Go to bed.”

I lean over, reaching for the bottle of whiskey. “No can do. I want to drink.”

He snatches up the bottle before I can reach it and scowls at the label. “This is poison. It’s not even real whiskey.”

I feel insulted. “Not everyone can afford proper whiskey. And this does the job! Give it back.”

Holding the bottle just out of my reach, he looks amused. “You’re cute like this. But you can’t have it back.”

My lower lip quivers. “But it’s mine.”

Lucas automatically looks distressed at the sight of my tears and he lowers his arm.

I jump up and grab the bottle from him, laughing. “Sucker.”

He looks bewildered for half a heartbeat and then snatches back the bottle, wearing a heavy frown. Ignoring my protests, he finds the kitchen and as I follow him, I watch him empty the bottle in the sink, to my utter dismay.

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