Holding Her Breath (Indigo) (7 page)

“Long story.” Whitney didn’t want to get into explaining that one.

Chace spotted her. He gave her a shaky wave and then pushed himself off the wall. He stumbled toward them. She couldn’t believe her heart was actually beating faster. What was this effect this weird, drunken stranger was having on her?

“Beautiful Whitney. We meet. Again.” Chace lurched forward and this time, she put her hands on his shoulders to steady him instead of the other way around as it had been at 7-11.

She smiled. He was charming in an obnoxious kind of way. “So we do.”

“You know, fate might be trying to tell us something,” he said, holding her gaze with his.

“Like what?”

“Ask me again when the world isn’t spinning.” He gave her a lazy grin that almost made her knees buckle. Then he closed his eyes, swaying gently back and forth with the music. He hummed so loudly that the noise could barely be called a hum.

Whitney asked, “You have a way home?”

“My car’s…somewhere around here. It’s back at the 7-11 I think. Only a couple blocks away.”

“Oh, no. You’re not driving. We’ll take you home.”

“We will?” Melinda raised her eyebrows.

“We will,” Whitney said.

“Can’t he just take a cab?” Melinda murmured, moving her head close to Whitney’s so that Chace wouldn’t overhear.

“He could, but he seems like a nice guy who’s had a bad day or week or something. I just think we should help him out,” Whitney murmured back.

“Oh, really?” Melinda’s voice was full of suspicion.

Whitney shrugged, pretending not to catch the meaning behind Melinda’s tone. “Really.”

“And just how much help do you want to give him?” Melinda raised her eyebrows.

Whitney rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Melinda.” She turned back to Chace. “You ready to go?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Beautiful Whitney,” Chace grinned, leaning against her arm as they headed for the exit. “Whoa. I am really, really drunk.” He said the last word as if amazed at just how true it was.

“Looks like he wants any ‘help’ you want to give him,” Melinda murmured close to Whitney’s ear before moving to Chace’s other side. It seemed he was going to need help from both of them to make it much further.

Whitney smirked, but said nothing. They stepped out into the chilly night air. Whitney was glad to have Chace so close and she told herself that was just because it was freezing out. Still, she couldn’t deny that she was a little disappointed when he pulled his head away from her shoulder.

She had to stop running into him before something crazy happened. It was scary because she’d never felt this warm and shocking thing before, but she couldn’t say it was unpleasant. That would have been a lie. And that fact made what she felt even scarier.

* * *

After they helped Chace fall into the backseat of Whitney’s car they closed the door after him.

“What if he throws up back there? Aren’t you leasing this thing?” Melinda asked as they slid into the front seats.

“He’ll be fine. Plus, the seats are leather. Almost anything will come right off them. Unless he bleeds back there or something, and I don’t see that happening.” Whitney turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

Melinda turned to the back of the car. “Where do you live?”

“The Gateway Apartments. Number…two…thirty…four,” Chace said, mumbling into his arm, which he had thrown across his face.

Whitney drove to the Gateway Apartments, which were not that far from Main Street, where the bar was. Melinda kept throwing her glances that said Whitney was crazy, but Whitney just grinned, shook her head, and kept driving. She wouldn’t have felt right leaving the nearly incoherent man to find his own way home.

Besides, she couldn’t get that image out of her head from the 7-11 when she’d first seen him. And some irrational part of her wanted to stay with him as long as she could since she would probably never see him again. Then again, hadn’t she said the same thing at 7-11? But really, why or how would they ever see each other again after that night?

When they parked in front of Chace’s building, they helped him out so that they could all walk up the exterior stairs to the second floor landing. Then, they walked to the door of apartment 234.

Whitney and Melinda stood at the door while Chace fumbled through his keys with slow, clumsy fingers.

“Here. It’s one of these.” Chace slurred his words, handing Whitney the key ring. She tried each key until she found one that fit the lock. She turned it, unlocking the door. Whitney and Melinda walked inside, nearly dragging Chace between them. Her purse slipped down her shoulder to her elbow, and she let it fall to the floor because it was easier than trying to catch it. She would pick it up on her way out.

“You know, you guys really didn’t have to do this.” Chace’s head hung forward. “It’s really sweet of you. You’re nice. Both of you. Really. I wish everyone was as nice as you.”

“Which way is the bedroom, Chace?” Whitney asked.

“That way.” He pointed straight back.

Whitney didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended that he hadn’t taken her question the wrong way. Looking down at him, she decided that he probably wasn’t even capable of taking it the wrong way that evening. Then again, even though she didn’t know much about him, he didn’t seem like the garden variety lecherous jerks she usually attracted in bars and clubs late at night. The more she thought about it, the more she really thought Chace had just had a bad day. She could sympathize with that. Hers hadn’t been great, either.

He leaned against her, settling his head onto her shoulder. His breath was warm against her neck. Her heart fluttered for a moment. She had a sudden, strong urge to sleep next to him all night so he could leave his head right there. Disturbing. Good thing Melinda was there so that she would have to be rational.

“Beautiful Whitney,” he whispered. She moved a little faster toward the bedroom. The quicker she could get out of there, the better.

She flipped on the overhead light and they helped him stumble across his bedroom. Walking him over to the bed, she noticed a photo on the nightstand as he fell facedown onto the dark brown comforter. The picture showed him with a laughing brunette. The combination of the photographer’s mastery of his or her art and the woman’s beauty almost seemed to make a spotlight shine down onto her photographed face. Her oval-shaped face, thin and highly arched eyebrows, and creamy complexion combined in a very flattering way. She and Chace were holding each other by the elbows. Her face was turned slightly toward the camera and her head was thrown back in laughter, but Chace was staring at her with a huge grin on his face.

Whitney wasn’t surprised there was a girlfriend in the picture. What did surprise her was that the girlfriend was nowhere to be seen at the moment. She wondered where the woman in the picture was that night. Looking closer, Whitney noticed fine, spidery cracks in the glass of the frame. As if someone had punched it with a fist.

She heard a groan from the bed.

“Chace?” Whitney called.

Chace rolled over and placed his hands over his face. She noticed thin, red scratches on the back of his right hand. He muttered something unintelligible.

Whitney forced herself to take her eyes off those scratches. “You gonna be okay?”

Another unintelligible mutter.

“I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

Melinda followed Whitney to the kitchen. “Can we leave now? This is creepy, being in some strange dude’s house.”

“What’s he gonna do to us? He’s barely conscious.” Whitney looked into his fridge. It contained only a pitcher of water, a couple containers of takeout food, some wilted vegetables, a few beers, and a whole lot of Slim Fast. Whitney grabbed the pitcher and closed the door.

“I’m not worried about that,” Melinda said. “What if he remembers just enough of this to say we drugged him and robbed him or something?”

“What? That’s crazy. You worry too much. Even if something outrageous like that were to happen, he wouldn’t have a clue who we are or how to find us. If he remembers anything, he’ll probably be embarrassed and he’ll hope he never runs into us again,” Whitney said, heading back to the bedroom with a glass of water. She set it on the nightstand and looked down at him. His head had fallen to the side, his wavy hair across his face. He was fast asleep, his lips slightly parted. She had a sudden urge to run her fingers across them and took a physical step backward as if she might not be able to stop herself from touching him otherwise.

He was out cold, lying there in his dark jeans, sweater, and even with his jacket still on.

“Should we turn him on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit if he throws up or something?” Melinda said. “He’s pretty drunk. I mean, maybe we should have taken him to the hospital or something.”

“Oh, now you’re concerned.”

Melinda snorted. “Yeah. If he dies, we were the last people seen with him.”

Whitney laughed. “I think he’ll probably be fine. He’s just really, really drunk. Like he said earlier.”

“Okay, then. Let’s get out of here.” Melinda walked back out into the living room. Whitney looked back and smiled at his sleeping form. One foot hung off the bed now, but other than that, he hadn’t moved since Whitney had gone to get the glass of water for him. He’d started to snore.

She walked over and put his foot back onto the bed. She spread a throw blanket over him. She thought briefly about leaving him a note, but no. It was better to just go.

She met Melinda, who was impatiently tapping her foot halfway out of the front door, in the living room. “Whit, let’s get out of here already.”

“Okay, chill out.” After grabbing her purse from where she’d left it by the door, she followed Melinda out into the breezeway. They went down to Whitney’s car and drove back to Whitney’s mom’s house. Melinda was bunking with Whitney instead of at Uncle Larry and Aunt Janet’s house.

They got out of the car and Whitney checked her purse for her cell phone after she locked her car out of habit. Melinda started to walk toward the house, but she stopped and turned when Whitney didn’t follow her. “Whit? What are you doing back there?”

“Shoot,” Whitney said, pawing through her bag.

“Huh?” Melinda raised her eyebrows.

“My phone. I don’t see it anywhere.” Whitney frowned.

Melinda groaned. “You must have left it at that drunk boy’s place. Wanna go back and get it?”

Whitney slowly shook her head. “We don’t know that it’s there. I don’t remember seeing it since the bar. I could have dropped it at the bar, in the parking lot, or anywhere.”

“We could at least go see.”

Whitney shook her head, rubbing a hand across her weary eyes, which stung with fatigue. “You know what? It’s late and it’s been a beyond crazy Christmas. I just wanna get in the bed right now,” Whitney said with a sigh. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

She was just glad she’d left her BlackBerry at home where she couldn’t lose it. If Andersen tried to reach her on that thing and wasn’t able to, the world might collapse. She dreaded going upstairs to turn it back on now that her mother’s Christmas BlackBerry ban was officially over to find out if he had tried to call or email her or not.

When Chace opened his eyes in the morning, he immediately closed them again. Everything felt like sandpaper. His eyes, throat, tongue. Just—everything. He tried opening his eyes again. It was a little easier the second time.

He concentrated on thinking back to the night before. He remembered Tim and the 7-11. Making a fool out of himself at karaoke. Kelly, of course, before all that.

But most of all, he remembered Beautiful Whitney. He smiled, turning his head to look at the untouched glass of water on his nightstand. And then down at the throw blanket covering him. She’d done more for him in one night than Kelly had done for him in months.

Whitney. He tried to remember every detail about her. The way her sweater dress had clung to her shapely body. The warm brown of her skin. Her round face and soft brown eyes. Her black hair with brown highlights pulled away from her beautiful face. The slight slant of her eyes. The scent of her when his head was on her shoulder. Soft and sweet and woman. Just like all the rest of her.

He pulled himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and yawned, pushing the throw blanket aside. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and glanced down at the screen. He had several missed calls. Two numbers he didn’t recognize. He’d probably been giving out his number at the bar like a fool. He doubted either of them were Whitney. He would have remembered giving her his number. He was sure of it. Besides, if she hadn’t thought he was an idiot at 7-11, she had to think it for sure after bringing his sloppy-drunk butt home.

His stomach dropped when he realized that the other missed calls were from Kelly. She’d also sent him a text saying that she’d meant it when she said she still wanted to be friends and she hoped he didn’t hate her. Muttering unflattering things to himself about her, he tossed the phone on his bed, stood, and stretched. He shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor along with the rest of his clothes. First things first. Alcohol was coming out of his pores. He reeked. Maybe he could at least wash some of it off.