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“Who’s driving?” I ask him as I hand him back his card and he grimaces.
“Guess we’re taking Ubers?”
I sigh, checking the time. There’s another hour until close and no way I can cut out early tonight. It would help if I could figure out what the problem is, but the rest of the guys are being as cagey as Baylor. Pushing for an answer doesn’t seem like the right call.
“Xander can drive,” I offer. “Maybe the others can hang around until close and I’ll take them home?” He looks back at our friends, probably counting heads before agreeing.
Whatever has them all on edge, Baylor is at the center of it and they just want to get him home. As much as I’ve seen him throw drinks back tonight, I can’t argue that it isn’t a good idea.
I walk back over to Baylor and grab his hand with mine again. “You good, B?”
His eyes still look so damn dazed that it breaks my heart. “Can I say no?” he asks in a whisper.
I kiss each of his knuckles. “You can always say no. With me, you don’t have to pretend.”
He nods and tears swell in his eyes. “Come home with me.” His words slur together and my heart aches a little more that I can’t go with him now.
“I’ll be just a little behind you,” I promise.
Alysha comes up behind me, obviously sensing the energy shift. “Take off, T,” she says.
Guilt eats at me. For leaving, for staying. I don’t think there’s a right answer. “Go,” she encourages. “When they leave, so will half the bar. I think he needs you and I’ve got this.”
I sigh, wanting to tell her everything is fine, but when I look back at Baylor I know it’s not. He’s not fine and I can’t even begin to guess what happened that made it that way. “Okay,” I relent. “I’ll take you home.”
A small smile breaks his broken expression and I know I made the right call.
I run my fingers over his chest and stomach, tracing the contours of his muscles as he flexes for me. He’s been quiet ever since he dragged me away from the rest of the guys and into his bed, but he still finds little ways to try and make me smile.
I trail back up from his stomach to tweak his nipple, making him huff out a small laugh. Smaller than a reaction he would normally give me. He hasn’t even tried to get in my pants yet. Something practically unheard of for the two of us.
He began to sober up after we picked up food and I forced an absurd amount of water down his throat. He was never plastered, but he was definitely drunk. It had been a good drunk, a fun one that should have led to wild and crazy sex tonight. Until it wasn’t.
But now he’s near silent and almost pensive. Keeping me close, but not talking about what happened. About what plummeted his high from winning.
Rolling over, I lay on his stomach and cross my arms over his chest and look down at him. The corners of his lips turn up as his hands land on my back, running over me soothingly. I cock my head as I study him, debating if I should ask. We’ve always had this silent agreement to never push each other. To just be there when the other needs us.
The way I went with him to the cat cafe, or like the time he carried me out of the shower and just held me. We don’t ask, and I haven’t. But maybe we should. Maybe I should.
“Your friends are really protective over you,” I start, watching him closely to judge his reaction. I picture the way they circled around him, not letting anyone but me get close to him. How quick they were to cut off access to him when they noticed something was wrong. And I have to hand it to the guys, the way they got the entire group of drunken idiots on the same page so quickly without any tears and yelling deserves some type of medal.
“They are,” he agrees, not tensing, or ever stopping the strokes over my skin.
We lay there for several long, silent minutes. So much unsaid hanging in the air around us.
Finally I break. “I want to ask,” I whisper.
His hazel eyes fill with emotion, with confusion, but never does he tear them away from mine. As if I’m the source of hisstrength, his comfort. Something about that thought heats my blood in an unfamiliar way that has nothing to do with lust.
“I want you to ask,” he admits, nearly as quiet as I was.
“You do?” I can’t help but ask to make sure I’m not totally fucking this bubble of ours up. We’ve had more fun together than I ever thought was possible and I don’t want to ruin that. Somehow we became each others’ safe space when everything else seemed to be slipping into chaos. I never thought this arrangement would end up leading to one of the greatest friendships I’ve ever had, save for Isla. And even the two of them don’t feel comparable.
His head just slightly tilts forward and I take a deep breath, entangling my fingers in his hair. I love the way the silky strands feel against my fingers.
“What happened at the bar, Baylor?” I finally ask softly.
He doesn’t answer right away, closing his eyes and leaning into my touch. He almost reminds me of Potato begging for scratches. I continue to run my nails over his scalp, waiting patiently for him to tell me what happened. When he does finally answer, his words are soft. “Clarissa was there.”
