Stumbling into the foyer of Daniel’s building, I’m focused on walking in a straight line, and laying my eyes on the man of the hour. The doorman tries to help me, but I shoo him away. I can tell by the crinkled lines around his eyes that he’s trying not to laugh at me. Hell, I’m struggling not to laugh at myself. “Do you need an escort?” he asks. “I have a perfectly capable man upstairs, so no, I do not need any escort services,” I slur as I push the elevator call button. Once I’m inside and the doors are closed, I start to panic. What if he has company? What if he’s not even home? I should have texted him. Maybe I should text him now. I pull my phone out and see the text Zander sent me about my ass. Starting a new text message, I select Daniel’s name (which is now listed as DO NOT CALL HIM EVEN WHEN DRUNK) in my phone. Mac: Are you home tonight? Great conversation starter there, Mac. Well done. I giggle at my own message. Not waiting for a reply, I type another message.
