Deep inside, some shit-sucking little voice tries to convince me I’m going to regret this later, but you know what? Fuck him too. Another swig, another problem solved. Bam.
“That’s how it’s done, boys,” I say. And I’m feeling pretty damn clever about the whole thing too—until some douchebag in hipster glasses and a Star Wars T-shirt bobs into view, glaring down at me like some kind of self-appointed god on the mountain.
“Kirin Weber!” I slur, pointing up at his face. “Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re scowling?”
“Seriously?” He’s disgusted—doesn’t even try to hide it. “We’ve been calling you for hours.”
My face splits into a grin. “Dude. I never realized how fucking massive your head is. It’s like the Goodyear blimp. And now it’s spinning!”
“Get up, Baz. We’ve got some serious shit to deal with, and this drunk-and-disorderly act isn’t helping.”
“Who said Iwantedto help? Was there a signup sheet? ‘Cause I don’t remember signing—”
He gives my boot a good kick, then swipes the bottle from my hand, taking a whiff. “This shit smells like it could strip the paint off walls. No wonder you don’t remember.”
“Gets the job done.”
Kirin helps himself to a nice gulp, then winces. “What job is that? Hollow out your organs and make you piss fire?”
“That, and it keeps the fucking nightmares out of my head.”
A flash of compassion flickers in his eyes, which is just about the last thing I want to see right now. He offers me a hand up, but I ignore it, stealing the booze back instead.
I’ve got all the compassion I need in this sweet little bottle.
I roll over on my hip and face the fireplace, content to stare into the flames and ignore him, but the stubborn bastard can’t take a hint. He’s on me like a first-year at the Smash cheese fountain.
“On your feet, asshole.” He grabs me under the arms and yanks me into a standing position. “There. Was that so hard?”
The whole room tips sideways, and I sway, latching onto his shoulder for stability. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s time for you to run upstairs, mainline some coffee, and pack your shit. We need to get off-campus, back to Stevie and—”
“Don’t.” I’m in his face in a heartbeat, rage boiling up from nowhere. Logically some part of me knows I’m off my rocker tonight, but when has logic ever stopped a drunken asshole from being a drunken asshole? “Don’t you say herfuckingname.”
“Oh, I’ll say it. I’ll scream it if that’s what it takes to get you to pull your head of your ass.” Kirin shoves me, and I rock back on my heels. “What are youdoing? She needs you, Baz. We all need you.”
“You don’t need me.”
Kirin glances at his phone. “Is this the part of the show where you start feeling sorry for yourself? Because trust me on this one, brother. We donothave time.”
“I’m no good for her.” I can barely stand on my own two feet, but I’m not so blitzed I don’t remember that. “I’m no good foryou. So take your phone and your cute glasses and your Judgy McJudgerson ass and go—fuck!”
Like a world-class dildo, I trip over my own feet, nearly face-planting into the fireplace. The only thing that saves my head from becoming a shish-kebob is Kirin—he catches me just in time, hauling me against his chest.
I should maybe thank him for that. Maybe not. Either way, now the four-eyed fucker won’t let me go.
“Nice save,” I say, smacking him on the back, but he’s still got me in a lock, arms tight around me, refusing to budge.
“Kirin, seriously. I’m good.”
No response.
“Look. I’m sorry if I sent mixed signals, but I’mreallynot in the mood for a cuddle tonight, so if you don’t mind…” I try to wrench free again, but he only holds on tighter, like some kind of giant boa constrictor about to crush the life out of me.
“It’s okay, brother,” he says softly.
“Fuck off.”
