Page 127 of The Temporary Fiancée
When we arrive, we quickly find the ladies. They’re huddled around a little bar table in the corner, laughing their asses off over a joke we just missed.
As we approach, Olivia is the first to notice us. The second she sees me, her face lights up in glee, and she exclaims, “Reed!What are you doing here?”
“We came to pick you up,” I say. “Thought you might need some—” I break off abruptly as she tackles me in a hug.
Her hair, which was tied in a neat bun earlier in the night, has come down and is loose around her shoulders. Her face is a little flushed at the tops of her cheeks, and she leans against me more than she normally would, swaying as I steady her.
Yeah, she’s pretty drunk. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her this drunk before, not even at the engagement party where we hooked up.
She seems like a happy drunk, though—she’s giggly, grinning, clearly enjoying herself. “You didn’t have to come,” she says, slurring her words a bit. “We were gonna be fine.”
“We were gonna be fine,” Riley offers, shooting me a wink. I can’t help but notice that, while both she and Sophie also have empty glasses in front of themselves, neither of them seems as drunk as Olivia. “Don’t worry. We had a plan to get home safe.”
“You don’t need a plan anymore,” Cole says, taking Riley’s hand. He plants a kiss on the top of her head, and I feel something strange in my gut for a brief instant, almost like envy. Then it fades as Olivia grabs my wrist, hanging off of me.
“Did you have a fun night?” I ask, grinning.
“So fun,” she answers, blinking up at me. “The best. Did you?”
“Yeah. It was pretty nice.”
Declan, Cole and I each text our drivers to call for cars. Mine is the first to arrive at the curb outside the bar, which is a relief—I can’t help but be a little vigilant about paparazzi, since we’re out on the town.
Of course, Olivia is playing her part to a tee right now. She’s pressed up against me while we wait, all smiles. I just don’t want anyone to take pictures of her while she’s drunk.
As soon as we’re in the car, I roll up the partition between us and the driver, giving us some privacy in case Olivia’s feeling chatty.
She doesn’t seem to want totalk,though. Pretty soon after we leave the bar, she’s already trying to climb into my lap.
“That’s not safe,” I chide her gently. “You should have your seatbelt buckled.”
She sticks her lower lip out in a comical pout. “Seriously?You’regonna lecture me about… seatbelts?”
“I said I’d get you home safe, remember?”
“I’ll be safe.” She sits in my lap, then pulls my arms around herself. “You’ll be my seatbelt, won’t you?”
God, she’s so fucking cute.
Already, I can feel my body responding to her. She shakes her ass a little as she adjusts her position, and immediately, my cock starts to twitch. I want nothing more than to take her right here, right now, in the backseat of this town car—and I get the sense that she wantsexactlythe same thing.
But I wouldn’t fuck her when she’s this drunk. Instead, I just hold her, letting her lean against me. A few times, I feel her breath on my cheek; her lips graze the top of my ear. She seems to be waiting for me to react, but I behave myself for the drive.
The second we step into the foyer of the penthouse, she grabs me by the front of my shirt, stands on tiptoe, and kisses me.
It’s a soft, quick kiss, but I follow it up with another—I can’t help kissing her back. It’s all I could think about for the whole drive.
Heat courses through me, flowing between us. Then, abruptly, it’s cut off.
She pulls back. I blink, trying to reorient myself, and notice a little too late that there are tears falling down her cheeks.
“Hey,” I say softly, confused, “no, don’t cry. What’s wrong?”
She sniffs, shaking her head, and brushes away a few tears with the back of one hand. Her gaze drops to the ground, like she’s embarrassed. “Nothing.”
It’s clearly not nothing—and whatever it is, it makes me feel like shit. She was so happy and having so much fun tonight. The last thing I want is to see her upset.
I pick her up by the waist and set her down on the kitchen counter, standing between her legs. “I mean it. What’s wrong?”
