“What the hell!” Bane yelped, turned around, and was practically in my chest.
I flinched, my hand racing to my temple. “Shhh. Please?”
She let out a rough breath and took a step back toward the still-open fridge as we both absorbed the frigid chill. “What are you doing?”
“It’s hot.”
“You scared me.”
“Who else would be here? Also, who’s on the couch?”
She looked past me. “Oh. One of my lovers. There’s another one in my room.”
“What?” I was suddenly a little less tipsy and more awake.
“Kidding. That’s Kimo’s brother—Kimo is my sister’s boyfriend. He had too many drinks, so he just crashed here.” She rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a plate.
I was leaning toward the pleasant call of the fridge, practically bent over her.
“We saved you food. Because, one, despite your false observations, I’m nice. Two, Kimo’s mom’s cooking is bomb. Three, you’re never going to get authentic food like this. But the hard seltzers and beers are gone.”
“Please don’t mention alcohol.”
She straightened up, turning toward me with an enclosed container in her hands, and nearly jumped. In my near-drunken state, it took seconds too long to realize that my nose was practically in her chest. Because I’d been bent over her, and now, she was standing upright and had turned around. Yes. That was how movement worked.
I hadn’t moved. But Bane had moved, shifting so that her breasts aligned with my face. Hmm. She was wearing a thin tank top. Not as low as the one she’d had on earlier, but I, unwillingly, had noticed some fine curves that maybe I sort of wanted to run my tongue over.
“You gonna do something while you’re down there, or…”
I grunted and stood upright, towering over her, and then catching myself on the counter behind me when the motion made me dizzy.
Bane grabbed for my waist and snatched my shirt in her fist. “Whoa!”
She dropped the container onto the counter with a soft thud, her other hand at my waist to steady me. I found enough composure to steady myself between her and the counter. I had to get myself together. She couldn’t see me drunk. She would hold this over my head for years.
Oh, remember that time you were drunk in Hawaii and I saved you from hitting your head on the floor and dying?
Bane would absolutely exaggerate.
I explained, “I had one too many. My friends think we’re still twenty-one.”
“Clearly. Do you want to eat to slow down that alcoholic descent?” She hadn’t stepped back, hadn’t removed her hands. She was so close to me that I could smell every fragrance on her. Soap, shampoo, lotion, and something spicy. Maybe remnants of dinner?
Hmm. Smelled like I’d missed something really good.
She gave a half laugh. “Are you sniffing my neck?”
“You do smell edible, pumpkin.”
“Well, we had very tasty food.”
Every time she breathed, her chest grazed mine. Damn. I must’ve had way too many if Bane was turning me on. Very dangerous territory if my brain cells could misfire this horrifically.
“Do you want to eat this or not?” she asked softly.
“Eat what exactly?” To be clear.
“Leftovers from dinner.”
Ah. Right. “You ever seen babies fall asleep in their food?”
“Did you eat at all while you were clubbing it up with your boys?”
“This place has no clubs,” I muttered into her hair. Did she taste as good as she smelled?
“Were you expecting a stripper for the bachelor party or something?”
“Nah. We’re not those kind of guys.”
She pulled away and patted my chest. “Okay, Drunky. Sit down before you fall. And eat to soak up some of that alcohol.”
I did as she commanded. “Oh, man. This is good.”
She watched me from a kitty-corner chair at the dining table as she drank water, pushing a glass on me every other bite, and nodding. “At least you get leftovers. They taste much better heated up.”
“Microwaves cause cancer.”
“Says the guy who gave his liver a hefty shot of overtime.”
