Page 4 of Guarded Love

I point my can at him. “Yeah, and that was before you admitted your big life plan is ‘mild policy tweaks.’”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Brutal.”

“Hey, don’t take it personally,” I say, tipping the can toward my lips again. “You’re still… not the worst person to talk to tonight.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "That sounds like a compliment. I'll take it."

"You should." I nod solemnly, though the room sways slightly with the movement. Whoa. When did the alcohol kick in? "I don't give compliments often. Especially not to hockey players."

"I've noticed," he says dryly, but there's no heat behind it. "Is that a journalism thing or just a you thing?"

"Both." I lean against the counter because I need the support. Not that I’d actually admit it out loud. "Journalists should be naturally skeptical. And I'm naturally…selective."

"Selective." Blaise raises an eyebrow. "That's a diplomatic way of putting it."

"I'm not being diplomatic, I'm being accurate." It’s then I realize the booze I’ve consumed is definitely hitting me now.Two drinks isn't usually enough to make me tipsy, but I skipped dinner in my rush to get ready for tonight, and who knows how much alcohol was in that jungle juice. Bad decision.

"So what makes someone worthy of your attention?" Blaise asks, leaning in slightly. Is he flirting with me? Knox would lose his shit if he found out. Well, that’s if he’s actually flirting with me.

I narrow my gaze at him as I try to focus. "Good question. I'll let you know when I figure it out."

He laughs. "Fair enough."

The room tilts slightly as I shift my weight and Blaise's hand shoots out to steady me again. "Whoa there. You okay?"

"I'm fine," I say automatically, but I don't pull away from his touch. "Just... the floor is being uncooperative."

"You’re definitely not okay.”

"I'm perfectly fine," I insist, but even I can hear the slight slur in my words. "Just a little... tipsy."

Blaise's hand remains on my arm. "Right. And I'm secretly a professional figure skater."

"You'd look terrible in sequins," I say, then giggle at my own joke. It also temporarily distracts me from hating the way his touch is making me feel. However, I can blame that on the alcohol.

"Well that hit like a stab to the heart," he says. His eyes scan my face with concern. "How much have you had to drink?"

I wave my hand dismissively, nearly spilling what's left of my beer. "Two drinks? Three? Whatever."

"Two or three is pretty different from 'whatever,'" Blaise says, gently taking the beer can from my hand and setting it on the counter. "When was the last time you ate?”

I look up at the ceiling as I try to remember. "Um, lunch? Maybe?" The kitchen tilts slightly, and I grab the counter edge. "But it was just a protein bar, so technically not even a meal."

"What the hell, Willow? No wonder you're swaying. You need food."

"I'm not swaying," I protest, then immediately contradict myself by stumbling slightly. "The house is swaying. Big difference."

"Right. The house. Got it." His hand moves to my lower back. “We’re going to get out of here and get you some food.”

"I don't need your help," I mutter, even as I lean into him. Fighting him is useless, but I can’t help but toss the comment at him.

"Clearly," he says dryly. "Come on, we’ll head back to campus and grab something."

"But the party?—"

"Will continue without us," Blaise finishes, guiding me toward the door. "Trust me, no one will notice we're gone."

I want to argue, but the room spins again and suddenly fresh air sounds like the best idea anyone's ever had. "Fine," I concede. "But I'm walking on my own."