“Zach?”
Her voice. It’s desperate and ragged.
Fuck. Honey.
Without thinking, I drop the phone and run down the stairs to her.
She’s swaying on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself when I throw open the door.
“Honey.” My voice comes out rough. “Are you okay?”
She lifts her gaze, and my chest goes tight.
Her eyes are glazed, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s smiling at me in a way that feels wrong, but somehow, it manages to still wreck me.
What the fuck is going on?
“Zach,” she breathes, and then she’s on me, throwing her arms around my neck. I rest my hands on her hips, noting the scent of alcohol mingling with her perfume as she collapses into my chest.
Is Honey…. drunk?
Holy shit.
Honeynevergets drunk. It was bred into her to be the perfect daughter—to stay in control.
She tilts her head back, her eyes half-lidded. “Do you always answer the door to jersey chasers in a towel?”
My jaw locks. Her lips graze my neck.
“Whoa, hey,” I catch her shoulders, forcing her back an inch so I can see her. “I only answered the door like this because I heard you.”
Because it’s you
Because it’salwaysyou.
“Why are you knocking? Where’s your key?”
She holds up her hand, showing me the honeypot keychain. “Yeah, I swear it was on there too, but I think I lost it.”
“Lost it?”
“Good. I missed you,” she says as her fingers brush against the edge of my jaw.
“Come on.” My arm locks around her waist. She’s trembling because she’s not wearing a jacket. Probably left it wherever she drank herself past the version of her I know.
She folds into me as I drag her inside, her face pressed to my neck like she’s desperately trying to crawl beneath my skin.
I kick the door shut behind us and flick on the hallway light.
Her face scrunches and she winces at the brightness, but I don’t turn it off, because I want to see her. To talk to her and figure out what the hell is going on.
“Honey?” I say softly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How much did you drink, sweetheart?”
“Um,” Her lips curl. “I don’t remember. Not too much.”
“But you—”
She cuts me off with her lips, and I taste it. Whiskey with honey, and a little hint of desperation, sharp and sweet on my tongue.