I'd taken my coat and shoes off at the door, but it didn't do much good for the rest of me. Cold beads of water leaked from my hair, occasionally dripping down my face or sliding down my spine, and a small puddle had formed on the floor beneath the hem of my jeans.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to be at home. But fuck . . . how the fuck had tonight gone like it had?

"You were drunk," Blake said softly, his expression softening. "We all make dumb decisions when we're drunk, so if you want to put it off as a one-off, lapse in judgement,...