I watched Lucy down two more glasses of red wine before I was able to pry her away from the table to drive her home. After Fischer chose Stella, Ariana made it impossible to have a private conversation with Lucy even though she sat a mere three inches away from me in the crowded booth. I also didn't miss Stella's invitation to Fischer to go drinking after we ate. In what universe does Stella Jackson fancy Fuckboy Fischer? She is not one to play games and Fischer loves to toy with women's emotions. 

"You know where the Denny's is on Thomas?" Lucy asks me as I'm exiting onto Grant Street. Her voice suddenly slicing through the silence startles me. 

"Is that the one by the Starbucks?" I ask back and she nods, her eyelids still heavy. I was hoping to talk to her more on the ride home but she quickly plugged her phone into my stereo and passed out before Lizzo sat down in the salon chair. I let her "Pre-game" playlist play out while I rolled down the highway and secretly enjoyed the new Taylor Swift stuff. It's been months since Lucy beat "Cruel Summer" to death, me begrudgingly nodding my head along to it as we drove around Phoenix. 

"I'm behind there, on 17th," she adds while tugging her phone from the AUX cord and I cringe. She isn't in a great area, but I know she's sick of people telling her that. I also know she's drunk, so she might be forthcoming if I ask about it. 

"Why are you living at Steve's? Why not Stella's? Or ask your parents to help get you into an apartment near school?" I ask gently, keeping my tone in check. I want to demand that she get her stuff right now and come home with me, but I also know she'd never go for that. 

She scoffs before saying, "My parents think I self-sabotage. It's apparently my fault Blake cheated, so...after their disappointment of me leaving New York, again, they made it clear I was on my own." She's slurring but the bite is there. I can tell she's bitter and she usually is when her parents are mentioned. 

"Could you have stayed in New York without Blake? Or did you want to come home?" I ask and then watch her head roll against the headrest to face the window. 

"If I wanted ten roommates and to live in a roach-infested place maybe. I wasn't making much at the bakery so, it's not like I would have been in Manhattan, despite what my parents may think."

"So, your parents wanted New York, but not necessarily Blake?" I cautiously ask, wondering how much she'll confide in me.  

"Oh, they wanted Blake. They adored him. I finally was living up to their standards. They finally saw me like they see Lauren." Lucy answers and I also know her older sister is a touchy subject. Lauren is three years older, graduated from Columbia in pre-med and is now doing her residency there to be a neurosurgeon. She has succeeded in anything she's ever done and even found time to marry an obstetrician who went to Yale. Lucy was an accomplished dancer whose anxiety forced her out of Julliard and into a sports bar in downtown Phoenix. They like to compare the two and I know they linger on Lucy's failures and Lauren's achievements. It's driven a wedge between the two so deep that Lucy only talks to her perfect sister on holidays and birthdays. 

"Is that what you want? To be like Lauren?" I ask while wondering if I even have a shot with Lucy if she is looking for Mr. New York Fancypants. My parents are well off here in Arizona, but they don't have New York money and I'll never have a bunch of letters attached to the end of my name. 

"Ha!" She scoffs loudly, "No! Remember how you told me you could tell I was a dancer because I looked like I walk with a stick lodged up my ass?" 

I glance at her, "Oh god, I said that?"

She nods, "Yeah, we were working together and I was on one about something and you said it, but anyway, I noticed Lauren walks with her nose so high in the air it's a wonder she hasn't drowned." I finally spot the Denny's and turn onto the road that leads behind it. She's still staring out the window as she says, "I just want my parents to see my accomplishments and not compare them to hers. I might not be dancing but I am still doing something I love. I never loved dancing. I felt loved because I danced. There's a difference." She points to a small brown and white house with a dilapidated balcony and quickly changes the subject, "I'm in the house behind there." She uses her knuckle to wipe a tear from her eyelashes before looking back to me, "Thanks for the ride." 

I pull up to the curb and notice a couple of men loitering on the corner, underneath the lamp that illuminates the Starbucks parking lot. I hope to god she always has parking right in front of the house. 

"Lucy," I say before she goes for the handle. She looks back at me, "I'm glad you are back. And I want you to know that I am proud of you. I can see how much baking makes you happy, and not many people pursue things that make them happy." She blinks, her large hazel eyes staring at me and then swallows the lump in her throat down. "Let me walk you to your door." 

She waves a hand around in front of her as she unclips her seatbelt, "No, no I am fine." 

"Lucy, I am not letting you walk up there alone in the dark with that dress on," I tell her and am glad when she doesn't argue with me. She nods before slumping forward to grab her purse off the floor. 

I walk over to the passenger door and help her slide out of the Jeep. I make sure she lands gracefully on the pavement, but I don't let go of her hand as we make our way up the driveway. I'm surprised how intimate holding her hand feels. I don't do a lot of hand-holding, I'm more of a hand on the ass or back kinda guy, but her hand feels comfortable in mine. She lets me hold it as she stumbles up the pavement, avoiding the deep cracks in the concrete. When we reach the gate that leads to the back house, she says, "I'm glad you don't hate me." She pushes the small wooden gate open and I see the wide sliding door that opens into her small studio. 

"I never hated you, Lucy," I reply quietly as she drops my hand to search for the key inside her purse. "I just..." I couldn't say, I just had realized I was in love with you and was mad you were leaving me. I could, but I really want to tell her everything when she's sober and not swaying in her high heels. "I was just worried you were making a mistake. I should have kept my mouth shut." She finally plucks the keyring out.

 "I'm glad you said something. You were the only one who did." She's looking up at me, with her big glassy eyes and her pink lips slightly parted. I look down at her and she slowly moves her head closer to mine. She's asking me to kiss her, and I really really fucking want to. I've wanted to for years. But not like this. Not while she's drunk and sad. I shouldn't have brought up her living situation. I shouldn't have let a drunk girl think about her ex and never-satisfied parents. The mood is awkward and kissing her is not the move. 

"Lucy..." I whisper as she tilts her chin upward. I also can't reject her, I have to be smart about this. Rejecting a sad, drunk girl is not a good move either. I watch her blink again, snapping out of the moment and she quickly shakes her head, as if shaking away her intention. 

"Sorry," she says quickly and then moves back toward her door, turning away from me. I quickly snatch my hand out to grab onto her forearm, preventing her from putting the key in the lock. 

"No Lucy, I want to," I tell her, which gets her to look at me. "I want to kiss you so fucking badly, but not like this." 

"Not like what?" She asks with confusion splashed across her pretty face.

"I want our first kiss to be...I think we should wait until you're sober." 

"Why?" She asks with a light laugh. 

"Well consent, mostly but..."

"You want to kiss me?" She asks in disbelief like she just processed my words. I nod as her lips part, her jaw dropping in amazement. "For how long?" 

I shake my head, finally dropping my hand from her arm, "I dunno. Years I guess." 

"Years?!" She exclaims as her eyes widen. "Why? I don't...years?!" I somehow made her angry. I wipe my hands down my face. I want to tell her everything, but as she takes a step away from me, her heel gets caught in between the lopsided pavers and she goes stumbling backward. She reaches out to me and I grab her hand as she topples backward, slamming her back into the sliding door. The glass luckily doesn't crack but the door slides open an inch. 

"This fucking lock!" She yells as we manage to get upright. We both look to the open door and then to the key in her hand. "I told Steve it sticks and he said it was going to be fixed." 

"Lucy are you sure you want to stay here? You can come stay with me. Until the lock gets fixed?" I offer but she just put her hands on her hips. 

"No, it's fine. I need...I need to think. I need to go to bed." She nearly shoves me off the patio step, angry at the lock situation and my confession. 

"We'll do this when I am sober," she snaps and I cross onto the driveway with her slamming the door in front of me. 

"Lucy!" I call out to her but a light flickers on somewhere inside and I know the conversation is over. I finally got my opportunity to kiss Lucy Halloway and I completely fucked it up.