It’s an effort to keep his cool, an effort not to grab the guy by the throat. But he’s got to restrain himself. If he hits the guy, he’s broken his no-fight promise to Alabama.
He don’t got much to give her, but he’s got his word.
As Bolo Tie reluctantly steps away from Alabama, she looks at Griff, heavy-lidded. Then she arches a speculative brow like she’s hell-bent on giving him trouble. “I can do what I want, Greyson.”
He nods, staring at her. “You can. But not when you’re three sheets to the wind and can barely walk a straight line.”
He holds out a hand to help her off the steep ledge, but she ignores it and slides off herself. Griff blows out a frustrated breath and tries to take her elbow. Those heels she’s in are a death trap. The last thing he needs is her falling and knocking herself out.
“Go away, Griff.” Alabama shoves him, but she misses and stumbles, nearly crumpling to the ground before he catches her up in his arms.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Griff says as Alabama sags against his chest. He wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady, to keep her close to him. “I got you.”
Alabama, her eyes all hazy, stares up at him. The strap of her bra slips down even more, revealing a healthy amount of cleavage.
Bolo Tie gapes at her like he can’t believe what he’s missing out on. Well, he sticks around any longer, he sure as hell ain’t gonna miss out on Griff’s fist connecting with his jaw.
Anger surges in him, and Griff turns to Bolo Tie while keeping a tight hold of Alabama. “Get lost,” he growls, and Bolo Tie finally beats it back inside.
That’s when Alabama’s long, tall body goes limp. Before she can protest, he sweeps her into his arms. Her face lolls drunkenly into his chest. Her eyes flutter and Griff waits for her to pass out, but she rallies and laughs at the stars. “Oooh. I feel dizzy.”
He makes a noise of sympathy. “Yeah, I know you do, sweetheart. You gonna puke on me?”
She purses her lips. “If you’re lucky.”
The flirty tone in her voice has heat spreading through his chest, his lower regions, but he pushes through his own need. He wants Alabama on the bus. He wants her safe. If the press gets a hold of this ...
Hell, that’s the last thing she needs.
When Griff reaches the bus, he bangs three times on the side. Sam, the driver, heaves the door open, blinking at Griff in the darkness. Then his eyes widen at the sight of a half-conscious Alabama cradled tenderly in Griff’s arms. “Go back in the bar and get Al’s purse and her things,” he orders Sam. “She’s okay, she’s just ... not a word to anyone,” he warns. “I mean it.”
Sam gives him an impressed look, and Griff bites back the urge to snap at him. Yes, he knows. For once in his life, he’s picking up someone else. Probably the only person in the world who could make him give a damn about anyone but himself.
Once on the bus, he carries Alabama down the hall to her room. She sways slightly but stays sitting up when he sets her on the edge of the bed. He kneels in front of her, so close he can smell the sharp sting of tequila on her breath.
Keeping his eyes on her face, he drags the small trash can closer to her. “In case you need it.”
“No way.” She hiccups. “I’m not drunk.”
Griff laughs. “Yeah, you are. You are very, very drunk, sweetheart.” Then, cupping her slender ankle in his palm, he uses his other hand to slip off her high heel. Alabama lets out a sweet sigh of relief and rests her bare foot on the thigh of his jeans. As he removes her other heel, his eyes can’t help traveling from her pink-painted toes to her slim calves to her creamy taut thighs. Alabama always had the longest legs he’d ever seen. And now, all grown up, she’s nearly as tall as he is. And he’s gotta admit, it turns him on. Mightily.
“Wait.” Alabama giggles and his heart flips. Her laughter—girlish, light. He hasn’t heard that kind of sound from her since Clover. It’s a glimpse of the girl he loved, and he finds himself wanting more. Needing more.
“I am drunk, ain’t I?” Her eyes go wide and Griff can see the pinfire patterns of gray. Dark and light all blending into one singular color of misty silver.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. You’re allowed to have some fun.” He grunts. “Just not with him.”
“With who, then?” She wets her lips. Her eyes bore into him. She tilts her head, her long copper hair spilling over a shoulder. “With you?” She leans forward. Her low neckline exposes the voluptuous curve of her full breasts. “With you, Griff?”
Shit.
He recognizes the look on her face—it’s one he’s had many a time. Red-hot want. A yearning that can’t be satiated. And he knows—he knows—it’s the same way he’s felt all goddamn night. He wants Alabama and she wants him. Which is an incredibly bad, incredibly tempting idea. Because she’s drunk and his dick’s jumping in his pants.
He needs to go, to get the hell outta here and beat it back to his room to beat it off.
He clears his throat, readying himself to go. “Al, I—”
Only before he can, she kisses him.