Dante's POV"Where's the dessert?" she whispered, fingers curling into my tie like a drunk little kitten who thought she was in control.Jesus Christ.The one time I joke, the one time I tease her—of course she's serious about it. Of course she remembered that stupid line.I was kidding. Mostly.I studied her flushed cheeks, the way her eyes kept blinking, not really focused, her lips parted, breath warm from the wine. She hadn't even touched the dessert at the restaurant. Because she's drunk, Dante. Pull yourself together."No, Sera," I murmured, brushing my thumb along her wrist before peeling her hand off me. "You're drunk."That should've been it. I was already turning to leave—to walk this off, to cool down.But then—her hand caught my arm.I turned.She kissed me.Messy. Sudden. Tasting like expensive wine and poor decisions.What the hell is wrong with this girl?I grabbed her shoulders, ready to peel her off, to steady her, to get control of the situationBut she looked up at
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