He was feeling the punishment now in the form of a light head and a dire need for fresh air. If he ended up on his knees tonight, he was going to kick every one of their smug asses tomorrow. An invisible divot in the carpet tripped him, and he took a staggering step to stop from falling. Okay, day after tomorrow.
“You all right?” Roxy grabbed hold of his arm to steady him, as if she had any real hope of holding him upright even if she suddenly sprouted the bullshit extra inch of height listed on her expired license.
“Never better.”
She stepped in front of him, got her hands on his shoulders, and looked him up and down, possibly trying to figure out just how wasted he was. The answer? Ninety-nine percent shit-faced, tipping toward a hundred as the last shot caught up with him.
She leaned in and sniffed. “Officer Donovan, you smell like a barrel of whiskey rolled by a thousand bridesmaids. Sure you’re up for a walk home?”
“I’m fine.” Actual conversation would be more convincing right about now, but he couldn’t seem to wring the right words out of his bourbon-soaked brain. A nice guy would compliment her on her performance, but he was still grappling with a personal problem he’d confronted while watching Roxy sitting pretty on a barstool, seducing every guy in the room—including him—with the talent that ‘til tonight had been his alone to enjoy. And yeah, it was straight up 5150 to be jealous of her sharing something that had never been especially intended for him in the first place, but ever since Roxy had hitchhiked into his life, he’d been struggling to keep a grip on his sanity.
Then again, maybe his real problem had started once Kenny had arrived to assume entertainment duties, and Roxy had hit the dance floor. Cooper from the firehouse could manage to untangle his tongue and ask her for a dance. Jeb Rawley could do his best to charm her with his shit-eating smile and boy band moves. Hell, even Junior could back up on her with his burly dude version of a twerk and laugh along with the rest of the crowd when she slapped his ass and sent him bumping and grinding back to his bride.
Any fool could get close to her, share a laugh with her, possibly even try his hand at enticing her—she radiated that kind of fun, open energy. Any fool except him, that was, because the energy between them wasn’t open or fun. It was supercharged. Fraught with tension. Dangerous.
“Earth to West?” she whispered.
Shit. Without really meaning to make it happen, he’d somehow ended up standing deep into her personal space, his head dipped low so the tip of his nose hovered near hers. Maybe they should just…release the tension?
“Hey, um, guys?”
West ignored the polite voice coming from annoyingly close behind him. Damn, she had the prettiest eyes. Sparkling blue-green pools a man could drown in.
They blinked and shifted over his shoulder. Her lips curved into a smile. “Hi, Cooper. What’s up?” She backed away an inch as she spoke but kept a hand on his arm.
“Are you headed out already?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes darted to him and then back to Cooper. Her smile took on a patient tilt he had a funny feeling conveyed some kind of extra message to the young firefighter. “I’m beat.”
“Could I…? I mean, I could drive you home.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but I think fresh air sounds better than a moving vehicle right now”—again with the eyes and the smile—“if you know what I mean?”
Sweet? Hell no, it was not sweet. It was a far fucking mile from sweet to have a fresh-faced firefighter swoop in and take a shot at Roxy while he was standing right there. Like there was some prevailing assumption that he was just a neighbor. A friend. A non-issue. He was a goddamn issue. A big one. And Cooper was about to learn what happened when one assumed. He turned toward the other man—a little fast, as it happened, and had to wait a second for the room to catch up. “I got this, Coop. I’m walking Roxy home.”
“In those shoes?” The guy raised his brows and tipped his head to the side like a damn Labrador retriever.
West squinted at his black dress shoes. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Cooper, you’re so nice to give it a thought,” Roxy said at the same time, “but I was practically born in stilettos.” She angled one leg to the side to show off the high-heeled sandal designed for long rides over a man’s shoulders, not long, uphill walks home.
Shit.
“Besides,” she went on, “a walk always clears my head.”
His was starting to spin. “Well, there you have it, Coop—”
“Y’all headed out?” A hand clasped his shoulder, and another relieved him of Roxy’s guitar. He had no idea where his suit jacket went. The voice he recognized as Shaun’s added, “Need help getting everything loaded into the car safe and sound?”
Josh flanked him on one side, Shaun on the other. Next thing he knew he was moving forward. Tyler held the door for them and pushed a bottle of water and a trash-bin liner into his hands as he passed. “Enjoy the ride, West.”
“I’m walking.” No way was he tagging along like a third wheel while Cooper drove Roxy home. He tried to dig in his heels, but his feet wouldn’t obey the signals his brain attempted to send.
“Don’t make me bust my own officer for public intoxication,” Shaun said. “You did your duty the night of Junior’s party. Now it’s Cooper’s turn.”
“Door-to-door service,” Josh added as they steered him toward the younger man’s Pathfinder.
“We should maybe wait a few minutes,” Roxy said from the other
