“Shit,” she mutters, staring at her bare feet. “I forgot my shoes.”
“I’ve got ‘em,” I say.
“Put them down so I can get them on?” she requests.
I set them on the ground, sure this is a bad idea. She’s staggering. How the fuck is she going to walk in these things?
She tries to get into them but she staggers and nearly trips.
And I’m pissed off because I can’t catch her. I can’t handle even the most basic task to look after my mate. If she lands on the ground and busts her ankle, I can’t lift a muscle to help.
It’s not supposed to be like this! Irritated, I snap, “Why the fuck would you wear those shoes walking here?”
“Because I wear what I want, that’s why,” she fires back with a sour look on her face as she gets them on, that newfound stubbornness she never had before Italy shining through.
And if she was staggering before, now it’s worse.
I pull in a big breath and try to summon some patience.
“You’re gonna bust an ankle, babe.”
“Ugh. I know,” she mumbles and takes them off. “I’ll just wash my feet when I get…ouch!” She hops a couple times on one foot before she looks at me with her nose scrunched. “I stepped on a rock.”
I stop and squat. “Hop on my back. Hopefully you don’t electrocute me.”
The rain has picked up pace.
She unties her sweater from her waist and puts it on, not that it’ll do much.
“Bay?”
She’s staring at me with wide eyes.
“A…piggyback?” she asks.
“Hurry up, baby, we’re gettin’ drenched.” I pick up her shoes.
She jumps up on my back.
“Hang on tight. Loop your legs through my arms. If I do it, you’ll zap me.”
She’s on, arms looped around my neck tight.
I break into a jog. It’s really pouring, pounding down hard. My house is soon in sight.
I jog up to the porch.
“Wait, what? No, Jase. Not here. I wanna go home.”
“We’re soakin’ wet, Bay. I’m not runnin’ another coupla blocks in this rain when the house is right here.”
She mutters something under her breath as I climb the front steps and open the door.
The house is dark, so I slap the plate of multiple light switches, which lights up the whole main floor, squatting so she can get down.
When I straighten up, the look on her face stops me cold. My first instinct is that I need new furniture. It doesn’t look quite as much like a frat house as it did a few weeks ago, but it’s definitely time for new stuff. I’d figured my new mate, whoever she was, could pick stuff out after I identified her.
But I quickly realize the reason for the expression on Bailey’s face. She’s looking into the living/dining room, at the back wall over the patio doors that lead to the yard where there’s a huge white banner with glittery red printing.