XI. Not the only one

When I return with coffee and breakfast, Mr. Angel has just finished brushing his teeth. His brows shoot up when he sees me. “I thought you ghosted me.”

“I thought I ghosted you too.” I grimace and then hold up my apology package. “I’m too old and boring for that. Breakfast?”

His answering smile is genuine. “Sure.”

He digs into the sandwiches with gusto and lights up when he spies his ristretto. “You know, it’s not every day that I meet someone who guesses my drink and buys it for me,” he says.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day that I meet someone who carries my drunk ass up six flights of stairs.”

He shifts where he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. “That was my own damn fault. I should’ve taken you home the moment we left the restaurant.”

My brows pull together. “The hotel was my idea.”

“Not sure it counts if you’re drunk,” he says.

I can’t help my grin. “I wasn’t the only drunk one.”

He crosses his arms. “What makes you think so?”

I start laughing. “Do you realise the elevator was working this whole time?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hello, you were pressing the light switch! I realised it on my way up.”

“No way.”

“You did.” I giggle.

He looks bemused. “You’re pulling my leg right? The lights didn’t go off!”

“It was an old, disconnected switch.” I tell him. “I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”

He rubs his neck and laughs. “I guess I’m also getting too old and boring for margarita nights.”

“You almost had me fooled.” I’m still grinning. “We’re lucky we didn’t both topple down the stairs.”