Joelle sighed in annoyance and crossed her arms over her chest, but she didn’t argue further.

Damon turned back to Micah. “Is my place okay?”

Micah considered his options.

You didn’t have to work for the police to know it was the height of idiocy to go to a stranger’s house drunk. But Micah couldn’t help but feel like Damon was hardly a stranger at this point. Besides, he was curious to see where he lived.

“Your place sounds- sounds good,” Micah agreed clumsily. “I’ve got to text my friend, though, so- so she doesn’t freak out when she can’t find me.”

Damon raised his eyebrows, possibly surprised Micah had someone who’d be concerned if he disappeared for the night – you know, considering his supposed line of work. “Of course. I’m glad you have someone looking out for you.”

Micah mumbled something in agreeance as he pulled out his phone. The names of his contact list blurred together, but he was able to find Tessa’ s number easily enough – it wasn’t like he had many in there. He typed a message that he hoped made sense and pressed send.

“Ready?” Damon asked when Micah pocketed his phone.

He offered a stilted nod.

“Call me tomorrow,” Joelle insisted to Damon before turning to Micah and pinching his cheek. “It was nice meeting you, Micah.” Micah had a feeling she may have attempted to plant another kiss on his forehead if Damon wouldn’t have chosen that moment to drag him away.

He was grateful for the man’s sturdy grip around his shoulders as he led him down the steps, back to the main floor. (Honestly, who put a spiral staircase in a club? It was practically asking for a lawsuit.)

Micah was leaning heavily on Damon by the time they made it out the front door of Club Trinity, and he was inebriated enough that he didn’t protest as Damon all but lifted him into the back seat of a familiar black vehicle, arranging him so that he was leaning back against the seat.

Damon slid in after him, tapping on the divider after he shut the door so that his driver – Geoffrey – knew it was okay to put the vehicle in drive.

The Rolls-Royce may have been the smoothest ride Micah had ever experienced, but considering the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, the sudden sensation of being in motion still made his head spin. He groaned, but instead of burying his head into his hands in an attempt to stem the dizziness, Micah turned and flopped onto his side, sprawling across the backseat and inadvertently resting his head in Damon’s lap, all but burrowing his face into the man’s crotch.

Micah didn’t have the sense to be embarrassed. Besides, the man’s thighs made an excellent pillow.

“Are you alright?” Damon asked stiffly. Hesitant fingers threaded through his hair. They felt so good.

“No,” Micah said. He frowned. Wait. “I mean, yes?” Micah may have forgotten the question. “I mean, do- do you still have any of that champagne in here?”