We finally made it to the coat check, got our jackets, and burst out onto the street. The din of downtown traffic and cool evening air greeted us, a welcome reprieve from ear-splitting cheesy pop remixes and the scent of sweaty bodies inside. Bailey bit her bottom lip and lingered by the door, hesitating like she was suddenly having second thoughts about leaving with me. But letting her go back into the club in her state was far riskier; she’d be a sitting duck for any creep who came along.

“Let’s walk,” I said, nodding my chin. “The fresh air will be good for you. I can order a ride on the way.”

Ironically, this was the outcome I’d been angling for earlier—going home with her—only minus the fun I’d hoped to have after.

But now that I thought about it, the optics of this situation weren’t great. Taking Derek James’s sister home when she was drunk off her ass would look pretty incriminating, even if my intentions were good.

“Okay.” She trailed beside me until we reached the corner, and I hit the button for the pedestrian crossing signal. A cacophony of horns and sirens echoed in the distance while we waited. The Walk signal illuminated, and I took a step out into the street.

Bailey held up a hand. “Wait.” She closed her eyes and swallowed audibly. Still frozen to the spot, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly between pursed lips.

Please tell me she wasn’t going to puke.

I stepped back up onto the sidewalk. “How much did you drink, anyway?”

She opened her big hazel eyes. Her impossibly long lashes fluttered as she blinked, trying to focus on me. “I dunno.” She shrugged, furrowing her brow. “Two vodka sevens and two shots of tequila? No, three shots. One had something else. Malibu, maybe?”

“You don’t drink much, huh?” I asked.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I turned twenty-one yesterday.”

Which means Morrison dumped her on her birthday. No wonder she was so drunk. Nice touch, dickbag. Not that I was surprised.

We resumed walking at a glacial pace while she made a concerted effort to remain upright. Great. At this rate, we would cover approximately one block per hour. Suddenly, a light mist of rain started to fall. Not enough to soak us, but enough to make us damp in that unpleasant, sticky-clothes kind of way.

“We need to get you home.” I pulled out my phone to order a ride. “What’s your address?”