She didn’t seem to mind my hands on her thighs, although I could tell she was intensely aware of them. I wanted to curl my hands into the stretchy black leggings, into the waistband, yank ‘em down, get my lips all over that creamy skin.
Fuck, what was wrong with me? I’ve got more control than this. She was still drunk. Not in the place to make smart decisions, and a girl like her—gorgeous, two Ivy League degrees, and smelling like the innocence of all Heaven’s angels—had no business knocking around with a scarred-knuckle, bar-brawling nomad like me.
She’d regret it in the morning, and if a woman was gonna regret me, she was gonna damn well remember every sinful second of it. And I wasn’t entirely sure her brain was recording at the moment. She seemed lucid enough, but you never knew.
I forced my hands off her thighs. “Gotta finish up a few things. Sit tight, yeah?”
She just nodded.
I made quick work of Myles’s amps, cords, and other shit, checked the area over for anything missing, checked all the cases and crates so I was triple sure I wasn’t forgetting anything, and then turned back to Charlie.
…Who looked like she was about to pitch off the crate, her eyes drooping.
I curled an arm around her waist and helped her off the crate. “You need to crash, darlin’.”
“Uh-huh.” A belated nod. “Suddenly super tired.” She leaned against me, and I was tortured silly by the soft press of her breast against my arm. “And hungry.”
I laughed. “Told ya.”
I had to hold her up, so I just kept my arm around her waist, and damn me if she didn’t just fuckin’fit, right there, where my arm could sling low over her hips like a gun belt. Like it belonged there, even though I knew it didn’t.
“Where’re we going?” she asked, all but laying against me, letting me mostly carry her.
“Bus.”
“Lexie?”
I cast a glance around. Saw Myles on the couch, Lexie sideway, legs tossed with familiar ease across his—they were sharing the bottle of whiskey and chatting like they’d known each other forever. “With Myles. Just talking and drinking.”
“‘Kay.”
“You’re crashing on the bus tonight, all right? You got my bunk. You can figure out your next step in the morning.”
“Car?”
“In the lot?” I asked, and she nodded. “Keys?”
She patted randomly about her person. “Purse.” It was tangled around behind her. I grabbed it, brought it around front. She peered at it. Clumsily unzipped it. Dug in it. “I almost feel drunk again.”
“Yeah, that happens. It’s exhaustion hitting you. You get a second wind and feel sober, or sober-ish, and then the booze leaves your system and your body is like, fuckin’ nope, we’redone.”
She found a bundle of keys attached to a big yellow sun made of floppy, broken-in leather, with a long strap and a key ring. Several keys for various locks, a PO Box or condo mailbox key, and a key fob for a Mercedes Benz. Handed them to me.
“That’s my baby,” she murmured. Then a worried glance. “Are you driving her? Where is she going?”
“You think I’m leaving your side in this state? Nah, babe. I’ll have someone from the crew follow us in it.”
“Follow us?”
“We got a show in Denver Tuesday, so we’re driving all night. You’re on the bus, and a crew member will be driving your car.”
She straightened, eyes focusing on me, and her fists grabbed the edges of my cut. “That car is mybaby. You have to pick someone you really, really trust. This is serious.”
I patted her hands, prying them off the leather. “I got you covered, Charlie. The guy I got in mind used to be a limo driver. He’s a pro. He’ll take good care of your car. Now, where’s it parked?”
“Way, way, way back. Far back left corner.” She leaned into me again, woozy. “Oof. Can’t tell if I’m more hungry or more tired.”
We reached the bus, and I helped her up and in. She stopped a few stumbling steps inside, and blinked. “Whoa.”
