Page 54 of A Perfect Fit

Great alcohol tolerance, my ass.

“I’m taking you home,” I say to her.

Isabelle folds her arms and stares at the drinks table. “I’m not leaving yet. I want another drink.”

I sigh and rack my brain to think of a creative solution, because drunk Isabelle appears to be just as stubborn as sober Isabelle.

“Fine,” I finally say. “But you’re going to lose the competition.”

Isabelle perks up at the word competition, and she whips her head around to face me. “What competition?”

“The competition of who gets home first.”

She places her hands on her hips. “Actually, I changed my mind. I’m going home. You’re definitely going to lose.”

It worked.

I do my best to conceal a smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

Isabelle heads toward the exit, her steps unbalanced. I reach out a hand to steady her, but she swats my hand away.

“I can walk by myself just fine!” she snaps.

I raise a brow. “You’d trip and fall in less than twenty seconds.”

“Wrong.”

“Let’s see about that,” I drawl.

Isabelle carefully places one foot in front of the other, like she’s walking a tightrope. “See? I’m walking fine, and, whoa⁠—”

She stumbles and trips, but I catch her before she can fall. Her head falls against my chest, and I instinctively wrap my hands around her from behind. She shuts her eyes briefly and then stands straight.

She feels like home.

I swallow, trying my best to regain my composure. “That was definitely less than twenty seconds.”

“So rude,” Isabelle whines. “I can’t believe I have such a rude boyfriend.” She pats my bicep, a giggle dripping from her mouth. “Oh my gosh, you’re so sturdy.”

This time, I don’t bother hiding a smug grin. If Isabelle were sober, she would never hand out compliments to me like that, so I’m taking whatever drunk Isabelle’s giving me.

“Ricky, my personal trainer, does a great job.”

She giggles again. “I bet he does.”

I place a hand around her waist, leading her outside the school. We wait by the front gates, and I send a text to Tony, letting him know I’m done with my event.

“Look, I’m a penguin!” Isabelle squeals. She starts waddling around, her movements indeed like a penguin.

Amusement stirs within me as I put my phone away. “Yes, a very cute penguin.”

She grins at me, clearly pleased by the compliment, and starts flapping her arms up and down. “Look, I’m a starfish!”

I let out a chuckle. “Yes, you’re a very cute starfish, too.”

A gust of wind blows through the air, and Isabelle wraps her arms around her body for added warmth. It was eighty-two degrees earlier today, but the temperature has dropped significantly now that it’s the evening.

“It’s cold,” she mutters.