Page 6 of The Backup Plan

“I’ve got you,” I murmur without thinking as I virtually carry her out of there with my hand around her waist.

Outside, the night air hits hard. It’s still thick with humidity, but it’s definitely cooler than inside. She inhales sharply but then her knees buckle.

“Something’s wrong,” she whispers as if this is her first clear thought.

“I know. It is.”

“I think—I’m—please get me out of here,” she slurs, her body falling against mine.

I swear under my breath and lift her fully into my arms before she can hit the concrete.

Do I take her to the hospital? Do I call the cops without proof of any wrongdoing? Do I . . . what the hell do I do?

Her head lolls against my shoulder, and her body becomes limp.

“I’m going to call the cops.”

“No. Please. I can’t mess up tomorrow.” It’s the first coherent yet defiant thing she’s said.

And I hate to break it to her but tomorrow seems like it’s already going to be messed up with whatever wicked hangover she’ll have.

Every rule I’ve ever been taught screams in my head.

Don’t be alone with her.

Don’t listen to her. Call the damn cops.

Don’t touch her more than necessary.

Don’t put yourself in a position you can’t explain.

“I’m scared,” she whispers, her fingers clutching weakly at my shirt.

Shit. I can’t exactly leave her here although self-preservation tells me that’s the better of my ideas.

I scan the street. People are everywhere, all coming here for the same thing I was. Music. Laughter. Fun. And they’re all doing just that, so much so that not a single person is paying attention to the man cradle-carrying a woman on the sidewalk.

She mumbles something incoherent. It sounds like, “Please don’t leave me,” but I don’t know for sure.

Fuck.

I don’t know her name, I don’t know who she is, and I don’t know what she drank or how much of whatever that prick slipped into it.

All I know is I can’t walk away when she’s in this state.

I flag down a car with the illuminated rideshare sign in their window. Within seconds I have her in the back seat beside me. I keep my body angled so she’s supported but not pressed against me more than necessary.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

“Good fucking question,” I bark out with a laugh that is full of disbelief. “Um, what’s the closest hotel?”

I meet the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He lifts his brows as if to question what exactly I’m doing taking a woman who is clearly out of it to a hotel.

Me too, brother. Me fucking too.

But I’m definitely not taking her to my new place where a million things can be misconstrued. Like a hotel is any better though.

“My sister’s messed up,” I lie. “I need to get her somewhere where she can lie down for a bit.”