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“No way,” Quinn says.
“Are you serious?”
Krishna and Quinn are still arguing amicably over what the odds are that I’m going to puke before morning when the front door flies open. West blinks at us in dull surprise for several long seconds before Krishna says, “Fuck. ”
“Nice greeting. ” He bends down to take off his snow-covered boots and disappears from view. I’m down by the floor, covered in chip crumbs and probably smeared all over with nacho cheese. He hasn’t seen me. I don’t care.
“Dude, I thought you were asleep in your room,” Krishna says.
“Not asleep. ”
“Yeah, so I gather. You been at the bar?”
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There’s a dull thud. “Yeah. ” Then a few seconds’ silence and a loud crash. “Shit. ”
“You’re drunk. ”
“No kidding. ”
Krishna turns to look at Quinn, eyes wide. She makes this shooing motion with her hands that means, Get him into his bedroom. Krishna stands up, nachos in hand, and it’s the wrong move, because West zeroes in on the container, says, “You guys got food?” and walks toward the couch.
Then he sees me and stops.
“Have to talk to you. ”
“I don’t want to talk,” I tell him.
“Yeah. I bet. Listen—” He cuts himself off. Looks at Bridget, Quinn, and Krishna. “You guys should probably fuck off for a while. ”
“It’s three in the morning,” Quinn says.
“In winter,” Bridget points out.
Krishna crosses his arms. “We’re responsible for her tonight. ”
“I’ll be responsible,” West tells him.
“You’re drunk. ”
“So?”
“So you can’t take off your shoes without falling over. I’m not giving you Caroline. ”
“Hello? I’m down here? Alive and well? Perfectly capable of making my own decisions?”
“I’m taking her,” West says.
“I’m not leaving her,” Krishna insists.
“Fine. Stay. But we’re going in the bedroom. ”
“Maybe I don’t want—”
And then I’m upside down, with West’s shoulder a hard pressure in my gut, and I have to focus, because my eyes are prickling and hot and I’m afraid I’m going to puke on him.
He picked me up. Picked me up off the floor and threw me over his shoulder.
