Dylan was heavy. Luckily, he was lucid enough to walk, albeit with lurching steps. He was so tall compared to my petite frame. My head only came up to his chest. Even in the heels I wore, he towered over me. Now and then, his big hand flopped against my neck or down my back as he steadied himself. By keeping an arm around his waist, I guided him in the right direction and kept him upright.
Within a few short minutes, we were at our door. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d left my coat, with my keys, at Dylan’s parents.
“Fuck,” I swore.
Dylan let out a deep laugh, and my eyes darted up to him. He stared down at me. “I haven’t heard you swear before.”
With the way he blinked at me, you’d have thought I’d grown a second head. I reminded myself that he was drunk. He probably was seeing two of me.
I sighed, “Well, now you have.” Irritation needled through me as the cold night stung my bare arms, neck, and back. Even Dylan’s body heat as he leaned on me couldn’t chase the cold away. “I forgot my keys. Do you have yours?”
He nodded, his dark gaze still held me. He patted his left trouser pocket, and a welcome jangle met my ear. He tried to slip his left hand into his pocket but missed. I chuckled.
I felt his arm stiffen around me, but his shadowy stare blazed with unexpected intensity.