But definitely drunk.
“This is so good,” she moans through the third massive bite of the burrito he’d ordered for her as they walk down the street toward her apartment. He ignores the shot of arousal that careens through him at the sound and focuses on getting her home in one piece. The same arousal that had him avoiding moments like this in the last few months, once he knew for sure that he wouldn’t be sticking around LA much longer.
But he figured that tonight would be okay. He’d go to her party, say his goodbyes and that would be that. Awhat might have beenwould turn into anever wasand he could get on with his life.
Instead, he’s walking her home.
He’s been there before.
They’ve worked together on more than one project over the last five years and spent more than one night sitting silently for hours, headphones on, as they both typed away at their dissertations, stopping every once in a while to read a snippet ofan argument out loud to make sure it wasn’t completely inane after looking at it for way too long.
She stumbles a little bit on the heels she’s been balancing on all night despite what he suspects was mostly straight vodka in her Dirty Shirleys and the tequila shots that they’d downed together when not one damn person in her life could be assed to show up for her.
The story had come pouring out of her after the second shot.
And it’s complete fucking bullshit.
It’s one thing if you don’t have anyone to show up – that sucks in a different way, and he’d know – but having people you love just blow off the biggest night of your life?
Fucking assholes.
“Do you want a bite?” she asks, somehow managing to smoothly step in front of him, despite the stumble, offering up the nearly demolished burrito. She walks backward on those heels for a couple of steps before she catches her foot in a crack in the concrete and she’s about to careen down to the sidewalk when he reaches out and catches her around the waist.
Bianca looks up at him wide-eyed, her mouth open in a surprised O shape. “You saved me. Now you need to have some burrito, as a reward.”
She lifts it toward his mouth and yeah, he might as well.
He leans down, holding her eyes with his, and takes a bite, letting the spice of the chorizo sit on his tongue for a second. She’s right, it’s fucking good, almost as good as the feeling of her body pressed against his. Sometimes he forgets how small she actually is. Her presence in his life was so infuriatingly massive, it’s hard to remember that she just barely tops five feet, that without those killer heels, she barely reaches his shoulder even though he’s not an especially tall guy.
“You’re right,” he agrees, pulling his gaze away from hers and taking a step back, letting his hands fall to her hips justlong enough to make sure she’s steady on her feet again, before letting go entirely.
“About what?” she asks, her brow doing that adorable furrow it does whenever she’s genuinely confused. It’s not something that happens often.
“The burrito is good.”
“I know!” she exclaims, taking off down the street, and he stumbles forward, trying to keep up. How the hell is she running drunk in those shoes? “I’m not gonna remember, you gotta write it down.”
“Write what down?”
“The name of the food truck,” she calls back over her shoulder as they make it to her apartment building.
She’s on the second floor and he hustles forward to make sure he’s right behind her as she climbs the stairs that run up the side of the building, and he does his best to not appreciate the view too much.
He doesn’t completely succeed.
Xavier’s always had a weakness for curvy girls, but curvy girls who are as smart as him, smarter actually, if he’s being honest?
He never stood a chance.
“You good?” he asks as she attempts to fit her front door key into the lock.
“I’m drunk and uncoordinated,” she mumbles, trying and failing for a second time.
“Sober enough for six-syllable words,” he shoots back, reaching to take the key from her. In a flash he has the door open and she slips inside, pulling him in behind her.
“Shut the door!” she scolds.
Oh right, her cat.
