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“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He nods.
“I like beds,” he says slowly. “Wanted to do you in a bed.” The thought seems to perk him up a bit. “Can we?”
“I doubt you can get it up in your current state.”
His palm goes to his dick, and he scowls at me.
“I can get it up for you. You’re hot, August. Can I call you August?”
I rub my palm over my face and go to him, maneuvering us so that his arm is across my shoulders and he’s leaning against me. It’s a good thing I live close by, because Caleb is heavy. We stumble through the streets until we arrive at my apartment. By the time we’re inside, we’ve probably pissed off most of the people I share a hallway with because Caleb is trying to star in a Beyoncé tribute act.
I help him to the couch and he slumps down on it. I go to wash my hands, and by the time I’m back he’s snoring loudly, most likely drooling on my couch cushions. I pull off his boots and take them to the hallway. It takes another minute to try and get him in a more comfortable position.
Then I just stand there and look at him. I must be an idiot. I should have… done something else. Something that doesn’t require having him in my apartment. Too late to kick him out now. Instead, I grab two throw blankets from the hallway closet and cover Caleb with one. He mumbles something in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like my name. I’m determined to ignore it. I’m not opening that can of worms.
I take the other blanket and settle in on the armchair. Not to take care of Caleb. I just need to make sure he won’t puke on my carpet.
That is definitely all there is to it.
8
Caleb
My mouth tastes like a skunk died in there. That’s the first thing I notice. I pry one of my eyelids open. Oh fuck. For a few seconds, everything spins wildly. Shit! I know the earth is always spinning, but for fuck’s sake, I’m not supposed to feel it!
It gets even worse once I’m in possession of all my faculties again. Because this is not my fucking apartment! I swallow down some of the dead skunk taste and try to remember anything from last night. The bits and pieces that emerge from the foggy depths of my brain are not promising. I’m pretty sure I quit my job. And then I apparently got really drunk. And ended up… wherever I am right now.
I slowly push myself into a sitting position and try not to curse out loud. So much pain. I think I’m going to die.
“You’re up.”
I whip my head toward the voice and only realize my mistake when a searing-hot bolt of pain goes through my temples. Nausea rises like a tidal wave. Not sure if it’s from the pain, or from the hangover.
“Motherfucking shit,” I rasp, squeezing my temples between my hands, breathing as deeply as I can manage.
“How much did you drink last night?” I hear August’s footsteps and his clothes rustling as he moves around.
“It’s safe to say I’ve most likely consumed every ounce of alcohol available in Manhattan.”
August snorts. I give him the stink eye, but he doesn’t have the decency to look sorry.
“Perhaps we can borrow some from Brooklyn in our time of need.”
“I’ll start an alcohol-raising mission first thing tomorrow morning.” I lean back on August’s couch and take in my surroundings. Everything is very clean and light.
“Nice place,” I say because August doesn’t seem to be in the mood to chat.
“Thank you. I like it.”
I watch him as he moves around the room, avoiding my gaze and straightening things here and there that don’t need straightening.
“Are we going to address the elephant in the room?” I ask.
He finally turns to look at me.
“Might as well,” he says with a sigh.
