Page 53 of Gunslinger Girl

“The only thing I’m counting on you for right now is more of this fancy booze,” Duchess said. “How about a turn of the room? See who else is feeling generous?”

Beside her, Pity could sense the heat emanating off Max. His arm rested on the top edge of the booth. When she leaned back, they were almost touching.

Pity gave Duchess a content smile. “Thanks,” she said, “but I’m fine right here.”

“I know I shouldn’t jinx it.” The words were as thick as molasses in her mouth. “But I can’t wait for the next show! I can’t!”

The floor lurched.

Max caught her. “Whoa, careful.”

“I’m fine!” She closed her eyes, but when she did, it was like she was back in the arena, spinning and twirling. She opened them again. “Okay, maybe I had a bit too much champagne.”

“A bit too much? It’s a good thing it comes in bottles and not buckets.”

“You’re one to talk! I didn’t see you saying no to any refills.”

He tugged at the collar of her blouse. It was sticky and peeled away from her like the skin off a peach. “At least I’m not wearing it.”

“I must look like a total mess.” She pulled away, stumbling back until she found the wall of the hallway.

He laughed. “You look as good as you did when you stepped out into the theatre.”

“Liar.” But it’s a nice kind of lie. When she looked at Max—even the slightly wavering Max before her right now—all she wanted to do was smile. “Where are we?” she said, tearing her eyes away to blink at the door numbers. “All these damn hallways look the same.”

“Almost there. You can make it.”

She straightened… mostly. “I could make it a mile if I needed to.”

“Sure, but lucky for you it’s only a few more doors. Here we are—home safe and sound.”

Pity punched in the door code, but it wouldn’t unlock.

“You’re punching in the door number, not your passcode.”

She turned back to him, off-balance, but the wall caught her. “Do it for me, would you?” Slowly, she slid down until her backside hit soft carpet.

Instead of opening the door, Max sat down beside her and sighed in an amused sort of way. “I think you are in for a helluva morning, Serendipity Jones.”

“Oh, am I?” Pity moved so that his face was only a foot away. “Well, it ain’t morning yet. And you know something?”

His mouth turned up at the edges. “What?”

“It sounds nice when you say my name.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were soft and still tasted of champagne. There was a cold twinge from one of his piercings—a strangely enticing sensation. Max stiffened with surprise, but then he was kissing her back. His mouth moved against hers, his hands finding her shoulders…

He pushed her away. “Pity, stop. I—you’re drunk.”

“So?” she said. “It’s just a kiss. I’m not too drunk for a kiss.” She started forward again, but he jumped to his feet.

“I’m drunk, too. We shouldn’t. I… can’t.”

“Fine.” She pushed herself up to standing, too. “But tomorrow when I’m sober—”

“Pity, I can’t.”

His tone hit her like a bucket of ice water. She tensed as he took another step backward.