Now that I’m sitting inside of this godforsaken cab, I’m kind of regretting that.
A little over five years ago, I innocently hailed a cab to head to a showing for one of my friends at a gallery in SoHo—and ended up in an ambulance with broken bones and eyes filled with glass.
My mind barely remembers any of the middle of the story, but somehow my body does. Every time I’m inside a cab now, I would need a jackhammer if I wanted a chance to break apart the tension in my muscles.
Indy rests her head on my shoulder, and I give the cab driver the address of her apartment.
“And, please, take your time,” I urge and reach across Indy to buckle her seat belt before moving to mine. “Getting us there safely is better than not getting us there at all.”
The cabbie nods and smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “You got it.”
Thankfully, traffic is nonexistent at this hour of the night, and the driver doesn’t appear to have a lead foot as he pulls out onto the road.
I stare out the window, and without even realizing it, I start to smile.
This fucking night. It was perfect. She was perfect.
New Rules brought the fucking house down, and I actually enjoyed seeing my brother in his element. He was happy and at ease, and for as much shit as I gave him while he was doing it, he deserves one hell of a life after the way he helped me through my loss of sight.
After the show, Indy and I met the band backstage for a few more drinks and some laughs. In hindsight, now that I’ve gotten Indy into the cab and we’re heading toward her apartment, I’m realizing a few more drinks really weren’t needed.
I glance down to see her eyelids drooping and her long lashes fluttering down across her cheeks.
“You okay?”
“Mmhmmm…jus sleepy,” Indy whispers toward me and wraps her hands around my bicep, snuggling her head into my skin.
She’s drunk, nearly sloppy she’s slurring and swaying so much, but I don’t hold it against her like I would someone else. To be honest, she’s an adorable drunk. All cutesy smiles and rosy cheeks, apparently this woman does no wrong in my eyes.
I gaze down at the angel crowding my personal space and smile.
God, what it is it about this woman?
It’s like she has me under some spell, and I crave more. More time. More words. More stolen glances. More smiles. More Indy.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to my side.
“Are you going to be able to wake up when we get to your apartment?” I ask softly into her ear.
No response.
“Indy,” I say a little louder this time. “Can you wake up for me?”
Still, no response. Only the soft, lulling breaths of a woman who’s succumbed to the alcohol and exhaustion and passed out.
“Looks like you’ve got a goner back there,” the cab driver says over his shoulder, and I catch his smile in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think this was the plan, but pretty sure those are famous last words, huh?”
“Exactly.” The cab driver chuckles. “Tomorrow, your girlfriend will be saying she’s never drinking again. They always do.”
My girlfriend. I don’t correct him.
I look down at her again, and my amusement turns to unease. The more I think about leaving Indy in her apartment by herself in this condition, the more uncomfortable I become.
After two more attempts to wake her up, I make an executive decision.
“Mind if we switch up the destination?” I ask the cabbie. “Can you head toward the Village instead of Brooklyn?”
“It’s going to end up costing you more,” he says, but I wave him off. I don’t give a fuck about the money as long as Indy is taken care of.
“Understandable.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of my place, and Indy is pretty much down for the count.
I pay the cabbie, tip him generously, and with gentle arms, pick up Indy and carry her toward my front door.
She doesn’t budge as I fumble for my keys or when I get us inside or when I carry her up the stairs and into my bedroom. Hell, she doesn’t even budge when I remove her shoes.
Thankfully, though, her eyes peek open as I adjust her head on a pillow and pull the sheets and comforter over her body.
“Ansel?” she whispers.
“I’m here.” I brush her long locks away from her face. “Just get some rest, okay?”
“Is the show over?”
I grin. “Yeah, it’s over.”
“It was a good show,” she whispers.
“It was.”
Her blue, slightly out of focus eyes gaze up at me. “Why do I have so much fun with you?” she asks and blows out a slightly frustrated breath. “Most fun I ever had.” Her eyelids start to droop again as she adds, “I’m a stupid moth.”