Page 203 of Faking the Goal

"For you?"

"Yes." She nods gravely. "Because sometimes I'm trying to be mad at you, and then I look at your face and..." She trails off, staring at me like she's forgotten where the sentence was going. "What was I saying?"

I laugh and tighten my arms around her. "No idea."

"Get a room, please," Luke groans. "Some of us are trying to keep our drinks down."

Taylor whips her head toward him, nearly losing her balance again if I weren't holding her. "You're just jealous."

"Of what?"

She hugs me tighter and gives him the smuggest drunken smile I've ever seen. "Because I have Ken-chan and you don't."

Luke stares at her. "You know what? You got me."

"Thought so." Satisfied with her victory, she turns right back to me and loops her arms more securely around my neck. "Can we go home now, baby?"

"Yeah." I brush a strand of hair away from her face, still smiling down at her. "We can go home."

"Good." She gives me another lazy, happy smile. "You can carry me."

I raise an eyebrow. "Can I?"

"Mhm. Boyfriend duties."

Of course.

"Whatever you say, trouble."

Getting Taylor back to her apartment turns out to be significantly harder than getting her out of the club.

By the time I finally get her drunken ass into bed, I feel like I deserve some kind of fucking medal.

She has argued with me about taking off her shoes, forgotten where she put her phone while holding it in her hand, stopped halfway across the apartment because she suddenly needed water, then decided three sips later that water was "boring" and she was perfectly capable of surviving without it.

Somehow, I get her settled beneath the covers anyway.

Mission accomplished.

Or so I fucking think.

I'm barely off the mattress before her hand closes around my wrist.

"Stay with me."

I look down at her.

Her eyes are heavy from the alcohol, her hair spread messily across the pillow, and there's something so unexpectedly vulnerable about the way she's holding on to me that whatever argument I was about to make dies before it reaches my mouth.

"Trouble—"

"Please, Ken-chan." Her fingers tighten around my wrist. "Don't go. My bed is cold, you're warm, and I don't want to be alone."

Fuck.

There are very few things Taylor Lewis could ask me for right now that I wouldn't give her.

Apparently, staying is one of them.