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It shocked me how drunk Morgan really was. It was one thing for Butch to let me get drunk, but for him to let Morgan get this wasted sort of pissed me off. I already knew Nash would be livid as fuck if he knew.
“Why in the hell would you let her get this shit-faced?” I asked as he held the door open for me to get her out.
He stared at me, not saying a word, and I knew why. The same reason he let me. It was a vice we both used to deal with our issues. The numbness did a hell of a job drowning out the guilt. At least for a little while.
“Never mind.”
“Thought you would say that.”
We exchanged a knowing look as I pushed Morgan’s phone into my pocket. Wrapping my arm around her, I guided her out to where we waited for the Uber. When it pulled up, the driver shook his head.
“If she throws up, I’m charging you a cleaning fee, bro.”
“Fair enough,” I said, helping Morgan into the backseat.
Twenty minutes later the car pulled up to a small bungalow on the west side of Austin. The driver jumped out of the car and ran around to the back to help me get Morgan out.
“Dude, your girl is wasted.”
My heart panged for a moment. She wasn’t my girl. “She’s just a friend, and I know she is. Today’s a tough day for her.”
He nodded. “I get it. Enjoy your evening, bro.”
“Yeah, you too.”
As we walked up to Morgan’s door, I paused. I hadn’t seen a purse on the bar back at Butch’s place.
“Morgan? Princess, where are your keys?”
She looked up at me. “I feel sick.”
Oh great. “Keys to your house?”
“In pockets.”
Glancing down, I held her with one arm as I reached into her pocket and felt for her keys.
“God . . . it’s been a long time since a guy touched me.”
I groaned internally. It was one thing to innocently look for her keys, but something completely different when she talked about me touching her.
“I’m not touching your body, Morgan. I’m getting your keys.”
“Oh. Bummer.”
I ignored her comment and unlocked the door. I decided it was easier to just pick her up and carry her. Morgan let out a yelp as I lifted her and walked into the dark house.
“Bedroom?” I asked, looking around for a light.
“What kind of girl do you thinks I am? Right to sex, Blake? Not even kisses? That’s not fair. I’ve always thought you would be a good kisser.” She pursed her lips and made kissing sounds.
I didn’t have time to think about that.
“Morgan, we’re not having sex. I’m not kissing you, and I don’t want to touch you.”
Her body sagged against me, and she buried her face into my chest.
After opening doors into an office and a spare room, I finally found her room. Walking in, I gently placed her on the bed. When I pulled back, I froze.
