Rush (Breathless #1)(77)

Brandon came by after a while to check in on them and he spoke to Caroline for a few minutes to the side. When he left, Caroline’s smile was huge and her eyes sparkled. She was excited—flush with the newness of a potential relationship when everything was shiny and exhilarating. Mia was happy for her. Caro deserved happiness after her last relationship. Maybe Brandon would be the one.

By two in the morning, Mia was ready to drop, and she was more than a little intoxicated. Since Caroline was riding home with Brandon, Mia saw no reason for her to stay any longer. She pulled Caroline to the side and told her she was heading home. Chessy and the others were still on the dance floor, but they’d all hooked up for the night and were occupied with their respective guys. They wouldn’t miss Mia.

“Let me get Brandon and we’ll walk you out to a cab,” Caroline said above the music.

Mia nodded and waited as Caroline ducked away. A moment later, she returned with Brandon in tow and Mia followed them out of the club. Brandon motioned for one of the taxis that was parked at the corner and then opened the door for Mia to get in.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Caroline said as she leaned down into the backseat.

“Be careful and have fun,” Mia said.

Caroline grinned and shut the door.

Mia gave her address to the driver and then leaned back in the seat. She still had a major buzz going even though she’d stopped drinking almost an hour before. Her phone went off and she frowned. It was past two o’clock. Who the hell would be texting her at this hour?

She pulled her phone from her pocket where it had lain forgotten all night, and winced when she saw she had over a dozen missed calls. All from Gabe. And then there were the texts. The last one had just been sent a few seconds ago.

Where the f**k are you?

While there was no way to discern tone from a text, she could positively see Gabe bristling with anger. There were several other texts, all demanding to know where she was and how she was getting home.

Shit. Should she call him? It was awfully damn late—or early—but he was obviously up and he was obviously pissed or worried or both—at her.

She’d wait until she got home and then text him back. At least then she could say she was at her apartment.

It took far less time to get home, as traffic wasn’t a factor at this hour of the morning. It wasn’t long until the cab pulled up to her building. She paid him and then got out, bobbling a bit as she got her legs underneath her.

The cab pulled away and she started toward the door to her building when she saw him.

Her breath caught in her chest and her pulse accelerated until the alcohol in her stomach swirled, making her queasy.

Gabe was standing outside the door of her building, and he looked pissed. He strode rapidly toward her, his expression dark and those eyes glittering dangerously.

“It’s about goddamn time,” he bit out. “Where the hell have you been? And why the hell didn’t you answer my calls or my texts? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

She weaved unsteadily and he cursed, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling.

“You’re shitfaced,” he said grimly.

She shook her head, still not having found her voice. “N-no,” she finally managed to stammer out.

“Yes,” he said.

He propelled her inside as the doorman opened the door and hustled her toward the elevator. He took the key she was holding in her hand, and pried it from her fingers as they entered and he punched the button for her floor.

“Can you even walk?” he asked, his gaze flicking over her like a whip.

She nodded, although she wasn’t so sure now. Her knees were shaking and more and more she felt the urge to vomit. Her face paled and sweat broke out on her forehead.

Gabe cursed again as the elevator doors opened. He grabbed her hand and then pulled her into his side, supporting her as they walked to her door. He jammed the key into the lock, opened the door and then swept her inside. He slammed the door and then rushed her into the bathroom.

Not a moment too soon.

Her stomach rebelled and she leaned over the toilet just in time.

Gabe gathered her hair in his hands and pulled it back, holding it away from her face. Then he slid one hand up and down her back in a soothing, calming manner.

He didn’t say a word—a fact she was grateful for—while she released the contents of her stomach. When the retching finally eased, he left her only long enough to dampen a washcloth in the sink and then he returned, wiping gently at her face and forehead.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “You know you can’t tolerate alcohol that well.”

She sagged and leaned her forehead onto his chest, closing her eyes as she sucked in deep breaths. All she wanted was to lie down. Even after puking so much, she was still way impaired. And she wasn’t certain why. She hadn’t drunk that much. Had she?

The entire evening was somewhat of a blur to her. Dancing. Drinking. Dancing some more. Or maybe it had been drinking some more.

“Want to brush my teeth,” she mumbled.

“Are you sure you can stand up for that long?”

She nodded.

“I’ll go get your bed ready so you can lie down,” he said.

Gabe left the bathroom, anger still a tight knot in his gut. More than anger, however, had been fear. A sensation that still gripped him right by the balls.