“Bella,” I called out, and she turned to me with a smile, her eyes already heavy, her cheeks flushed red.
She was drunk. There was no point pretending otherwise.
I’d been watching her from across the bar. She didn’t just have one drink. Not two. Three. By now, I wasn’t surprised she was swaying on her feet. Her friends hadn’t even noticed, too busy giggling and leaning into her for selfies. None of them seemed to care that Bella could barely hold herself upright. Maybe they were used to drinking like that. I wasn’t.
“Let’s go home, Bella,” I said, moving toward her and offering my hand.
“She was the one who kept drinking,” one of her friends cut in. The girl’s dress barely covered her chest, and her voice slurred as much as Bella’s did.
“Yeah, she even finished ours,” anothe
