I hauled her against me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. She stiffened for a second and then placed her hands on my sides as she pressed her face against my chest. The feel of her went straight through me.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

In that moment, whatever happened between us after I had seen her scar didn’t matter. I buried my hand in her hair, pressing her closer. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” I held onto her, lifting her up in the air and then back down, thrilled to be just holding her again. I cupped her cheeks, laughing at the feel of her. “You feel like a little ice cube.”

“I feel hot.” Our gazes met and she smiled. “Your eyes are really beautiful, you know that?”

“I think that’s the shots of tequila talking. Come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

Reaching down, I threaded my fingers through hers. The last thing I wanted was for her to fall and break her neck. Once inside her warm apartment, her fingers spasmed around mine.

“You’re missing the fight,” she said.

“So I am.” I led her around the couch and tugged her down. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” She ran her hands over her thighs. “Your friends are probably wondering where you are.”

I leaned back, getting comfortable. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

A brief smile crossed her lips as she sat forward and then glanced back at me. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. The fight and the friends weren’t as important as the one sitting next to me. Besides, I was a little concerned about her alcohol intake, especially when she jumped up and almost ate the coffee table.

“Maybe you should sit down, Avery.”

“I’m okay.” She stumbled around the coffee table. “So . . . what did you want to do? I can, um, turn on the TV or put a movie in, but I don’t have any movies. I guess I can order one from—”

“Avery, just sit down for a little while.”

She picked up a pillow and placed it on the couch. I guess she was going to start cleaning the house? But then she went to the moon chair. “You don’t think it’s hot in here?”

“How much did you drink?”

“Um . . .” Her face screwed up. “Not much—maybe like two or three shots of tequila and two beers? I think.”

“Oh wow.” I grinned as I scooted forward. “When’s the last time you’ve really drank?”

“Halloween night.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I didn’t see you drink Halloween night.”

“Not this past Halloween night.” Back on her feet, she started tugging on the sleeves of her sweater. “It was . . . five years ago.”

“Whoa. That’s a long time.” Oh, this wasn’t going to end well. I stood. “You got water in here? Bottled?”

“In the kitchen.”