Rush

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 fuck 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 hereyes as she sucked in deep breaths. All she wanted was to lie down. Even after puking
     so much, she was still way impaired.