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“How old are you?” I blurt out. Half of Lorenzo’s lips tilt up, revealing his dimple.
“Twenty-three.”
“I’m twenty-five.” My nose wrinkles.
Lorenzo shrugs. “Just a number.”
“I’m twenty-three, too,” Larissa interjects. I turn my head to the side to look at her and find myself appreciating how nice and welcoming she’s been. If it wasn’t for her, I know I wouldn’t be having a good time. Impulsively, and alcohol driven, I land a kiss right on her cheek. She giggles but then I’m yanked away by a calloused and strong hand gripping my arm.
“Ow!”
“Oh, stop, I know you’ve felt worse,” Lorenzo purrs. I’m standing next to him now, though I’m not exactly sure how that happened. His words process slowly, but when they do, I search around me to see if anyone heard him.
“Chill, princess. No one here works with us.”
I guess that’s true. I’m trying to muster up the annoyance I should feel at the fact that he’s not understanding—or ignoring—theno onepart, but it’s hidden beneath the fog and I don’t care enough to find it. His touch feels good, and standing next to him does funny things to me.
“Play shot pong with us,” I tell him.
“How many rounds have you guys played?” He eyes the table that I didn’t realize was littered with empty cups from the third round we were playing. There are some spills, too. When did that happen?
“This was our fourth game,” Larissa says.
“No, thiiiird,” I say, drawing out the last word. I sound ridiculous, and I don’t care. It’s great. I start to giggle. “I’m never too drunk for numbers!”
“Come on, let’s get you some water,” Lorenzo says. He takes my hand and tows me across the yard and into the house.
“Am I allowed to be in here?” I ask. I trip over the door jamb, but Lorenzo is there instantly, steadying me with his arms. He laughs and shakes his head, guiding me into the small kitchen on the immediate right.
When I’m in front of the counter, I lean on it and stare at him with a goofy grin. He puts his hands on my waist and hoists me onto the counter, then grabs a cup from the stack of the same black cups next to the fridge.
“How many drinks have you had?” he asks as he fills the cup from the dispenser on the door.
“I’m allowed to drink as much or as little as I please,” I say defiantly. Although I’m not making a good case for myself by swaying a bit.
“Of course you are, princess. I’m just trying to assess the situation, see what I’m working with here.”
“I like when you call me princess,” I say thoughtlessly. I throw my hand over my mouth once the words register in the space between us. He hands me the cup of water and steps in between my thighs, placing his hands on my knees.
“But you were so insistent I not call you that.”
I take a sip of water. “Yeah, around our employees. I mean Rowan’s employees. Our coworkers. At—”
“I got it, Kate.” He laughs and I join him, feeling much more at ease than when I’d first arrived.
“I’ve had like five drinks or something. The three you gave me, and then whatever I drank in the shot pong. Oh, but I refilled one…”
I think back, trying to calculate, but his scrutinizing look causes me to ask, “What?”
“I feel like you shouldn’t be that drunk…”
I ponder his words. I drank about as much when we were at Rowan’s party. I drink at brunches with Char, and sometimes I’ll have wine at home, so it’s not like I don’t have a tolerance.
“I didn’t eat!” I shout when I remember.
“Ah. That’ll do it.”
“Actually, I am kinda—”
