Page 92 of Let's Talk About Love

Takumi’s half smile lit up Alice’s whole heart. She had his full attention as she so often did.

“Seeing as how I already picked upthe girl, I don’t think that applies here.”

It was not lost on Drunk Alice that she wasthe girl.

She was his girl.

The thought made the warm spot idling in her chest combust. She looked at Takumi, who looked at her, and she took a shuddering, steadying breath because she was far too drunk and the irrational thoughts wanted to lead her to that precarious place wherechancewas not synonymous withworthwhile.

“I’ll play for you,” Takumi said. “What do you want to hear?”

A severe case of drunken swoons hit Alice like a battering ram. Heart fluttering, stomach flipping, toes tingling—the works. Sweet Baby Jesus, did she have it bad. If she were two fewer drinks drunk, she would have been afraid, but such was the nature of liquid courage. She curved her hand around her glass, pressing it into her sternum. Eyes brightened by sincerity, she asked, “Do you know any Celine Dion songs?”

Takumi gently tugged on her ear. “Pick something else.”

“What about the Backstreet Boys?”

“Let me guess: Your sister was a fan?”

“And me!” Alice said, taking another swig of wine and stretching out her legs. Her calves had begun to fall asleep. Leaning her swimming head on his shoulder seemed like a splendid idea. When she followed through, he didn’t make her move. “I love my parents’ music, too. Mary J. Blige; Whitney; Prince; Earth, Wind and Fire. Michael and Janet. Babyface—oh my God, ‘Whip Appeal’ is my jam. Don’t even get me started on New Edition. Classics, the lot of them.” She wiped her blurry, drunken eyes on Takumi’s surprisingly soft cotton shirt and rested her chin on his shoulder. She poked his dimpled cheek. “Hi.”

“You’re very, very drunk.” He was looking at her and she justlovedit when he did that.

“I am,” she admitted, sitting up. “I didn’t plan on it.It just happened.” She snorted with laughter, nearly falling backward. Alcohol was quick, but he was quicker—his arm gripped her waist, pulling her upright and back toward him.

Takumi turned his head, whispering, “Careful.” Once he was sure she wouldn’t tip over again, he let her go. She took it upon herself to sit as close to his side as possible—part of the guitar touched her leg.

A familiar melody began to swirl around Alice. She placed her head on his shoulder again. Closing her eyes. Just for a second. To concentrate.

CHAPTER

30

“You talk in your sleep,” Takumi said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that.”

Alice opened her other eye, groaning the smallest bit. “I do not.”

Her tongue felt thick in her sticky mouth. That light-headed feeling persisted, spreading through her body as if cotton had been shoved into her veins. She’d been this drunk before, had fallen asleep and woken up only slightly less intoxicated. She had wobbled to her feet, stood on top of Margot’s bed, and shouted, “My blood has been transformed! I’m a stuffed bear! Behold the power of wine!”

(Approximately no one knew what the hell she had meant.)

“You do so,” Takumi objected. The guitar had vanished—the only sound in the room came from the crackling wood burning in the fireplace. “Who is Mr. Dimples?” To her mildly horrified look, he said, “That’s what I thought.”

“Did I say anything else?”

“Maybe.” He smiled. “Probably.”

“How did I get in the armchair?”

“I carried you so I could make the bed. I thought it’d be better to sleep out here on the sofa bed with the TV instead of in the bedroom.”

He helped her stand and her knees buckled as the room spun.

“On the ground, on the ground,” she said with urgency, folding herself in half to reach the floor faster. She crawled to her suitcase. “Stop laughing at me, you jerk.”

“I’m laughing with you in case you don’t hear yourself.”

“I need to put on my pajamas.”