She leans her head against my chest, and I smooth a hand down the back of her hair. I notice she doesn’t use any gel or hairspray, so her hair is silky and soft in my fingers.

“I’m having a great time,” she whispers against my shirt. “I could dance with you like this for hours.”

I pull her closer and we slowly sway together all the way through the band’s set. When the band stops to take a break, she looks up at me without removing her arms from my neck.

“Are you ready to go home?” I ask. “Or do you want to sit down and wait for the band to come back?”

“How about we dance at my place?”

“That will definitely work too. Let’s get out of here.”

She’s a little wobbly and unsteady on her feet as we make our way out of the building. When we reach the car, I lean her up against the side while I unlock the door.

“Are we going to make out in the car?” she asks with an uncharacteristic giggle. “I always wanted to make out in a Camaro.”

I wish.

“Not this time, darling. Ask me again sometime and I’ll take you up on it.”

I turn on the radio for the drive back to her house and Lila starts singing along loudly to the song.

“Your personality changes quite a bit when you’re tipsy,” I say.

She laughs and keeps singing.

When we arrive at her house, I walk her up to the front door and lean down to give her a light goodnight kiss. No way am I screwing things up by touching her while she’s drunk. She might be all up for it now, but tomorrow she’ll want to slap the shit out of me.

There’s no need to rush things. We have time.

“Aren’t you coming inside?” she asks. “You can stay for a minute, can’t you?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You need to go to bed and get some sleep.”

Pulling my head down to hers, she reaches up and kisses me slowly.

“Five minutes?” she says.

“Five minutes, and then I need to go.”

“Are you going to the clubhouse?” she asks. “To hang out with the Sweet Butts?”

The thought of leaving Lila to be with one of the Sweet Butts is not appealing in the least.

“No, I’ll go straight home. Alone.”

I help her inside the house and turn on the lights.

“I need to change my clothes,” she says while walking toward the bedroom.

When she doesn’t return in a few minutes, I go to check on her. She’s lying on the bed still wearing her dress. I walk over and nudge her

“You can’t sleep in your dress. What do you normally sleep in? A gown? T-shirt?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles.