I grunted in acknowledgment and steered us toward that room. There were voices behind some doors. Familiar voices. TVs, too. Some of our teammates and likely staff members were still awake.
With each step I took, half-dragging him down the hall, I silently begged every door to stay shut.
Luck or some deities were on our side tonight, because we made it to room 912 without incident. One tap of the keycard, one click of the lock, and we were home free.
I guided him into the room and nudged the door shut behind me. Then I helped him to the king-size bed and eased him down on its edge. “There we go.” I tried not to sound relieved as his weight slid off my shoulders. Not because I couldn’t hold him up—I just hated the responsibility. The absolute certainty that I was going to take a bad step and let him fall.
Now he was safely in his room and on his bed.
Avery wavered a little, then seemed to steady himself,and he clumsily loosened his tie. “Uh, thanks. I guess I’ll… see you at breakfast?”
I nodded. “You good for the night? I don’t know if I should leave you when you’re…” I trailed off, wondering why I was trying to discuss this with someone who was that drunk.
“I’m fine.” He slid the now undone tie off his neck and let it fall onto the comforter beside him. Gazing up at me, he grinned. “I’mfine, okay?” He pushed himself slowly to his feet, pausing to make sure he had his balance. As he unbuttoned his jacket, he added, “I’m not—I’m good, okay?”
I tried to keep my skepticism out of my expression, but I doubted I succeeded.
Avery rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’mgood.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, and there went his balance again.
Without thinking, I grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “Whoa, easy.”
“I’m fine!” He tried to take another step as if to prove it, and that… did not end well. He toppled into me, sending me back against the TV stand. By some miracle, I didn’t hit the flatscreen behind me, though it wobbled precariously. It didn’t fall, and I managed to steady both Avery and me. Again.
He grabbed the edge of the TV stand for some extra support, and we locked eyes. For a moment, we were both still, my heart absolutely slamming into my ribs as we stood there, neither of us apparently quite sure how to disentangle ourselves.
“Um.” I swallowed. “Maybe you should sit down again. Have some water before?—”
His weight shifted, and I moved to catch us both again when?—
Avery kissed me.
Just… out of nowhere, his mouth was against mine.
For a couple of seconds, I was frozen, disbelieving that Avery Caldwell—the man I’d wanted since forever—was kissing me.
But then the astringent taste and fumes of strong booze nearly made me cough. They also reminded me why we were here.
Avery wasn’t kissing me. A version of Avery who was so shitfaced he couldn’t walk was kissing me.
I put my hands on his shoulders again and—carefully but firmly—pushed him back a step. He didn’t protest. If anything, he looked a little confused. By my rejection? By the fact that I was here at all? Who knew. All I knew was that I needed to get out of this room and away from him as quickly as possible. He was way too drunk to know what—or who, let’s be real—he was doing, and I didn’t fool around with people who were intoxicated.
I guided him back a couple more steps until he hit the bed. Then I pressed down on his shoulders, and he sat again.
Releasing him, I said, “Let’s get you some water.”
He nodded, looking a little dazed.
I scanned the room. This hotel, like so many others, had a pair of complimentary bottles of water on the dresser. I grabbed one and broke the seal, which took some work because holy shit, my damn hands were shaking.
“Okay, this should help you sober up.” I turned to hand him the bottle, but halted.
He’d lain back across the bed, and he was already out cold. Passed out? Asleep? Well, unconscious one way or another.
“Christ,” I muttered, and then took a swig from the bottle since it wasn’t like he’d be drinking it any time soon.
I studied him as I tried to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t just leave him like this. What if he had alcohol poisoning or something? What if he got sick while he was still lying on his back?
I could text one of the trainers or the team doc. Except… damn it. No. That could get him disciplined by the club. If nothing else, it would humiliate him, but it could also hurt his career. His place on the team.
