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Thorne didn’t want to give in. “It sounds like you already did.”
“He’ll need you here when he wakes up.”
“I’m at the office. I’m going to wrap up here and come home in an hour or so. I promise.”
“Fine. Should I lock the door behind me?” Marc asked.
“There’s a spare key card in the top left drawer of my desk. Take it in case you need it later.”
“Really?” Marc sounded shocked.
“Yes, really. You’re Riley’s best friend, and you should have a key.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s Riley’s apartment too. Tell me you believe that. Or am I going to have to do something to prove it to you too?”
“You could redecorate?” Marc suggested.
“Something that doesn’t say stuffy old man?”
“Ha! If you’re stuffy, a wild old man might kill m— Oh my God.”
“What?” Thorne asked, pulse speeding up. “Is Riley okay?”
“He’s fine, but the key card’s not all that’s in this drawer.”
Thorne’s mind raced. What had Marc found? Then he remembered. That was where he’d stuck the riding crop Riley had given him when they had to do a quick cleanup before Susan came over.
“Just take the key and get out of there.”
“Uh-huh. Will do, Mr. Stuffy. You make things right with Riley, or I will make you regret it.”
“Good night.” Thorne hung up.
It was a fucking shame Marc didn’t have a man of his own. He was one of the most loyal, caring people Thorne had ever met, even if he could be a right bastard when he was topping you.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Riley opened his eyes and then closed them immediately. Something was trying to drill its way into his head. A nightmare? No, he was awake. He hurt too much not to be.
He tried again. Bright light shone through the window. Since when did light make him nauseous? He pulled the covers over him. Don’t move. If he moved, his head might explode. No, that couldn’t really happen, right?
“Riley?”
Thorne. Was that Thorne? Why was that strange? Thorne should be in bed.
“Riley, I know you’re awake. Do you want some ibuprofen?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t sure the word was audible. For a few seconds, Riley didn’t think he could stop the roiling in his stomach, but breathing slowly and staying very still worked.
“I’m going to get the pills and some water, but you’ll have to sit up.”
No, that was not happening. “Dying.”
“I bet you feel like it. Marc told me you nearly polished off the tequila.”
Marc? Tequila? What time was it? Was he still drunk?
Thorne peeled back the covers, and Riley shielded his eyes.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Thorne said, his voice strained.
Riley opened his eyes enough to see that Thorne looked about as ragged as he felt. That brought his memory back. The fight. The tequila. Marc.
“Come on. Sit up and take these, and I’ll make you some coffee.”
Ugh. The thought of anything in his stomach was revolting, even the pills and water Thorne was holding out. “I don’t think I can… Oh, shit.”
Riley moved faster than he would have thought possible.
When he’d finished expelling what was surely everything in his stomach—and maybe a few of his organs—he took a piss and made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. He looked like he’d been strung out for days, not drunk one night. Fuck.
He stumbled out of the bathroom, intending to crawl back in bed, but Thorne was waiting for him. He wrapped an arm around Riley’s shoulder and guided him toward the kitchen. Thorne sat him in a dining room chair, obviously showing a hidden sadistic side. The sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows would likely kill him. Thorne set water and ibuprofen in front of him.
“Take those. Drink the water, and then drink this.” Thorne handed him something that looked like tomato juice that had gone off and smelled like he imagined smelling salts would.
“Jesus Christ, what is it?”
Thorne started to speak, but Riley interrupted him, “Wait. It’s not that shit Jeeves gives Bertie is it? Is that shit real?” In his favorite episode of Jeeves and Wooster, Jeeves is hired after producing a miracle hangover cure.
“I assume it might be something similar, but I got the recipe from my sister.”
“Your sister?” The idea of Kathryn hungover was too difficult to contemplate. Riley threw back the pills and took a few sips of water.
He eyed the reddish-brown concoction. “You really want me to drink that?”
“I do. I swear you’ll feel better.”
“I can’t feel much worse.” He drained the glass, thought for sure he’d puke again, but after a few moments, he felt oddly better. The sun no longer seemed destined to kill him.
“Do you think you can stay upright a little longer?” Thorne asked.
Riley nodded, and his head managed to stay on his shoulders.
“Good. I’m going to make you breakfast.”
“Uh…Thorne?” He didn’t think he could move fast enough to escape if Thorne set the place on fire.
