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“Fine,” I huff, defeated.
He chuckles. “Just get in. Tell me your address. You do know your address right now, right?”
“Funny,” I say, squinting to look at the street signs. But they’re all moving. And the trees are moving. And the buildings are moving. And suddenly, the cold gravelly asphalt is on my back and the sky, inky blank, is above me.
I hear a scuffle of shoes and feel an arm come around me. “Shit, you okay?”
“Mmm. This is nice.” Logan’s arm is tucked underneath me, and it’s soft and strong. It feels supportive. I could just lay here for a while. I could take a nice nap here, under this arm.
I think I hear T then, her laugh and her straightforward communication. A couple of words likefifth streetandstop signandseventh floor.
“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” Logan says. He hooks his other arm underneath my legs, moving me to the car.
“I can walk.” I try to fight off, swatting at hands.
“Don’t think you can, party animal.” His voice is deep, but playful.
“This is ridiculous. How did I even get here?” I groan.
“Might have been the Panty Dropper.”
A laugh bubbles out of me as I cover my face with my hand. Logan gently sets me down in the car seat, an impressive show of his strength, and checks to make sure I’m alright.
“Good?” he asks softly, close to me, eyes studying my face. I nod as he reaches over to buckle my seatbelt, hands quickly moving over my lap when I’d really rather they linger. Has car safety ever been this hot?
I need to go to bed.
***
“Seventh floor?” he asks,heading to the elevators.
We walk slowly, side by side. My steps are crooked and he’s hovering in case I take a nosedive on to the tile.
“I feel pretty stupid right now, by the way,” I say sloppily. Not sure if he understood me, though.
“I’m having fun.” He laughs, and it sounds so sweet.
I always ride this elevator alone. It’s funny to think about now. I leave early in the mornings; I get home late. I very rarely find myself talking to people in this building, let alone any stuckin elevators. But here I am riding this elevator with somebody for once, and I’m barely holding it together with my stomach full of booze and my head swimming.
The ride up is painfully slow, and we stand across from each other watching the numbers go up. He’s got his hands tucked into his pockets, effortlessly cool Logan, breathing evenly. A steady rise and fall of his chest, that same chest I met on the very first day of tango class. My eyes move downward to his feet, crossed at the ankles, and then up to his face, that smile tucked into the corner of his mouth like he’s got a secret. Like he’s caught me. One that might be screaming,see anything you like?
The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, a rude interruption, and the doors open to my floor.
“Apartment 712.”
He walks me to my door, and I turn to lean against the wall. Suddenly all my senses are awake. I see how he keeps his body close to mine for safety, I feel how his hand lightly touches my arm for stability. I notice how he checks in to make sure I’m alright.
Except maybe I’m not fully awake, because I don’t catch how I’m leaning into him, moth to his flame, until I realize he’s still and I have to pull back, embarrassed.
“My keys are in my bag,” I mumble, looking through my overstuffed purse for them. Now I’ve become antsy, ready to get in the house and die of embarrassment, and when I can’t find my damn keys, I flip the purse upside down, dropping all its contents onto the hallway floor.
“Hang on, Julie,” he says gently, leaning down to grab the keys that he’s spotted in the pile. He calmly puts everything back into the bag and hands it over to me. Why do I feel like crying right now?
I really need to get into my house and get the fuck into bed.
“Which key?” he asks, holding them in his palm.
“I’ve got it.”
