Page 86 of The Dance

“All right, Molls. Time to give me your keys.” I said as I took her empty glass. “No driving home for you.”

She leaned closer, the hem of her T-shirt drooping a little more to show her ample chest. “Heard you have a pool house. I could go for a swim,” she slurred.

What she needed was her bed to sleep off all the alcohol in her system. Despite me giving her a lot of Coke, she was still consuming at least a shot per glass, and that was on top of what she’d drank before she arrived at The Wild Pony.

“I don’t get off for several hours, or I would take you up on that,” I lied.

“You’re no fun.”

“I can be. Give me your keys first, though.” I reached out my hand.

“And how am I supposed to get home?”

She was crazy if she thought I was going to let her leave and get behind the wheel of her car.

“How about”—I leaned forward and crossed my arms on the bar top—“you give me your keys and take a little nap in the office in the back?”

Molly pressed the screen of her phone. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”

And yet you’re drunk, girl.

“I know. Take a little nap, and I’ll see if I can get off early and take you to my pool.”

“Why do I have to nap?”

“Fine. Don’t nap, but go back there and wait for me, okay?”

She stared at me for a beat. “Are you cutting me off?”

I gave her a warm smile. “Have to, Molls.”

“I thought you were the life of the party, Blake.”

“When I’m not working, I’m the best kind of fun.”

“I’ll just take a rideshare home.”

The hell she would. I wasn’t chancing anything happening to her besides her getting into her own bed for the night, and even though I didn’t want to call Stacey, I knew I had to.

“No midnight swim, then?” Technically, it would be like a three-in-the-morning swim, but I was trying not to push her too much since I was going to call Stacey to hopefully come get her.

She slid off her barstool and swayed, catching herself by the lip of the bar. “I’m fine.”

“All right. At least call Stacey to come get you,” I countered. At least that way,Iwouldn’t have to be the one who calls her.

“Fine, but you’re a total buzzkill.”

I walked Molly to the office, and once she was settled on the small couch with a bottle of water and her phone, I asked, “Do you want to call her, or should I?”

“She’s already been texting and calling me.”

“Okay, so she’s coming?”

Molly shrugged. “I haven’t responded or answered her calls.”

I knew she hadn’t answered the calls because I hadn’t seen her take one, but I didn’t know why she wasn’t answering the texts. “Why not?”

“Because you’re both party poopers.”