“Another drink, barman,” she slurs, lifting her hand up. Her other hand is supporting her head, elbow somehow managing to stay put.
Catching his eye, I shake my head.
“No more. I’m cutting you off.”
She juts out her lower lip, pouting, and I have the urge to bite it. “I thought you were fun, Westy.”
“Westy? Please don’t ever call me that again. And I’m tons of fun. But you’re wasted, and the only thing you need to be drinking now is water.”
“Water’s boring.”
“It’s what will save you from feeling like you’re dying in the morning.”
The bartender helpfully puts down a bottle of water on the bar in front of us.
I thank him and pop the cap on the bottle. I hold it out to her. “Down this. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to thank you tomorrow. I want another cocktail.”
“Down this, and we can talk about another drink.”
She stares at me again. Granted, her eyes are glazed and off focus, but they’re still absolutely fucking stunning.
“Fine,” she grumps and takes the open bottle from me. She drinks half of it straight down.
“All of it,” I tell her when she pulls the bottle away from her mouth. Putting my hand to the bottom of the bottle, I guide it back up to her lips.
“You’re really bossy, you know.”
She has no idea.
“Stop complaining and finish the drink.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, but she finishes the water. “Happy?” she says, putting the empty bottle down on the bar.
“Yep.”
I actually am, and I don’t mean from getting her to drink the water. I’ve had a lot of fun with her tonight. I’ve laughed a fuck of a lot. She’s a funny drunk. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman who I’m not actively fucking or knowing that I will be at the end of the night.
Although I plan on broaching the fucking thing with her tomorrow. When she’s sobered up.
“Now, I get to have another drink.”
“Bar’s closing,” I lie.
She looks around. The bar has filled up since she arrived earlier, and everyone is still sitting at tables.
“People are still here.”
“They’ll be leaving in a minute. We should go now to avoid the rush.”
“But you promised me another drink!” she whines.
“And you can have one when you get back to your villa.”
“I have none left. I drank everything in the minibar and the fucking free champagne they left.”
“You’re complaining about free champagne?”
She frowns. “No, the champagne was decent. It was supposed to be a gift for the newlyweds for our fucking honeymoon.”
Oh. Shit.
I knew she was here alone and had an ex. But I didn’t know she was here on her honeymoon, alone.
No wonder she’s hammered.
“You can have a drink at my villa. My minibar is stocked.”
“You haven’t got fucking honeymoon champagne, have you?”
“Nope. Like I said, no girlfriend or wife.”
“I haven’t got a husband or a fiancé anymore, but I still got the fucking champagne.”
I can see her eyes starting to water, and I don’t want her to start bawling in the bar.
“Come on. Let’s get you back.”
I slip off my stool and help guide her off hers. I wrap my arm around her waist. She’s so fucking tiny.
She falls into my side, and I walk her out of the bar and into the night air.
“Think I’m a little drunk,” she slurs as I start to walk us in the direction of the villas.
“No shit.” I laugh. “Where are you staying?” I ask her.
“The nice water villas.”
“Number?”
“I can’t remember.” She laughs.
This should be interesting.
“It’s at the end of the jetty. It’s one of the nice ones. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“You know, they all look the same; the only difference is the numbers on them.”
“I know, duh,” she says drolly. “It’s the old ones.”
“Eh?”
“Old. Well, not old. Another word for old.”
It takes me a good fucking minute to figure out that she means senior.
“You mean, the senior water villas.” I chuckle.
“That’s it!” She snaps her fingers in recognition. “I’m in the end one.”
“I’m in the end one too.”
Her head tips back, and she looks up at me. “No way!”
“I’m in seventy-nine. So, if you’re at the end, you’re staying in seventy-eight.”
“That’s the one!”
She pats my chest with her hand. I have to force myself to ignore the way I feel at the contact of her hand on me.
“And your chest is really hard. Wowsers.”
Fucking hell. She’s killing me here.
“Like really hard.”
Her fingers are pressing against my pecs, and I’m fighting down the urge to kiss her.
She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.
I pull in a deep breath through my nose and get a lungful of her.
“You’re really tall,” she says quietly, still staring up at me.
“I’m normal-sized. You’re just tiny.”
Her brow furrows. She looks fucking adorable. Like a kitten trying to be a tiger. “I’m normal-sized, thank you very much.”
“I’m a whole person taller than you.”
“You’re just freakily big.”
I laugh. “I’m six foot three. Ergo normal.”
“Maybe for a guy. Woman here, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” Shit, my voice has gone husky, and she’s still staring up at me with those big blue eyes.
I really wish she weren’t drunk right now. If she were sober, I’d be kissing the shit out of her and carrying her back to my villa, where I would spend the rest of the night fucking her.
But sadly, the only fucking my dick is doing tonight is in my hand.
“Come on—”
“Ooh, look at that!” Before I have time to blink, she’s walking away from me and weaving across the sand toward the water’s edge, where a crab is standing. “It’s a crab. Fuck me, that’s a big crab!” She laughs, stumbling a bit.
“It’ll bite your foot off,” I tease.
She stops and looks back at me. “Really?”
“No.” I chuckle. “But it’ll probably try to nip you with its pincers if you get too close.”
And she is pretty close now that I’m looking.
She takes a measured step back, and out of nowhere, the crab runs at her.
She screams and runs straight for me. The next thing I know, I’ve got a drunk Dillon plastered to my body.
“Help me!” she wails. “I don’t want to get bitten by that crab!”
I start laughing. I can’t help it.
The crab stopped the minute she bolted for me. And for a drunk chick, she sure could move, and she jumped on me like a fucking Olympic hurdler.