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Yeah, I don’t think anything else in life will ever surprise me again.
I rub her back while she groans, stroking my palm lightly, smoothly, calmly up and down. Even though this might be just about the least erotic scenario imaginable, my cock still twitches as I feel how warm and soft she is through her shirt.
I keep her hair held back and keep stroking her back through a couple more rounds of retching, until she’s all retched out.
“Feel better?” I ask gently.
“Water,” she croaks.
I look up. I can already see the Ice Box halfway down the next block. Her own house is a couple blocks away. She needs water now—and I really don’t feel good about leaving her on her own tonight.
She should stay at my place. That way I can make sure she gets enough water, I know I have some aspirin on hand, and I can be there in case she gets sick again in the middle of the night or needs anything else.
“Alright, Pukey, let’s go.” I lightly scoop her up in my arms because I know she’s in no state to be walking on her own two feet.
She groans. “You can call me Pheebs as much as you want as long as you don’t call me Pukey again. Please.”
I wink at her. “I’m gonna hold you to that deal.”
Fuck, she feels good in my arms. It’s like her contours were perfectly crafted to fit in my arms. Carrying her, feeling the heft of her entire body, as I walk her down the street feels … nice.
I wonder how nice it would feel to carry her like this for some reason other than because she’s too drunk to walk straight. Carrying her like this on any given night … just because. Just because I can, just because I want to—just because she wants me to.
There’s a weird feeling in my chest as I contemplate it. A soft, mellow aching in my heart.
We get to my front door before I can dwell on the feeling any further. Luckily, no one else is home right now. I’m really not in the mood to field questions from all the guys about why I’m carrying my lifelong rival in my arms right now.
“Sit here for now,” I tell her as I lower her onto the couch.
“Thanks for the … instructions, Hunter,” she says, her voice drowsy and her eyes not even open. “I was gonna … stand on my head instead of sit.”
I shake my head, laughing silently. Even when she’s absolutely hammered and too tired to stand up, she’s got energy to banter with me.
I wonder if she’d bring that kind of combative personality into the bedroom.
Shit. That’s something I don’t need to think about right now.
“Drink,” I command once I’ve filled a glass with water and walked back over to her.
“Thanks for the … instructions, Hunter. Instead of drinking it I was … was gonnna …”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Just shut up and drink the damn water, Phoebe.”
Her eyes are still closed, her face so exhausted you could think she was already asleep, but her lips still perk into a tiny, tired smile at my admonition.
She obliges and sucks up half the glass. I set it on the coffee table and lift her up again, marching her up the steps to my room.
“This is my house?” she asks groggily.
“No, Phoebe. It’s mine. You’re too tired to make it all the way to yours. You’ll sleep here tonight.”
“Oh,” she says on a yawn. “Okay.”
I set her down gently on my bed. I know exactly where my brain is going to want to go when I untie and remove her shoes for her, so I try really hard not to dwell on the incredible view the position gives me of her long, smooth legs.
I succeed … kinda.
“This is your bed?” she asks, her voice so weak and distant that it sounds like she’s talking in her sleep.
