“Are you going to throw up?”
I shook my head slowly, then remembered why I came over here in the first place. “I came to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well, there’s no vehicle outside,” I said slowly, not because I thought he was stupid, but because I could barely get the words out without thinking through everything very carefully.
“Your deduction skills are astonishing.”
“And the last thing I remember is you taking my keys.”
“Yeah, you were pretty drunk.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You passed out on the bar.”
“That sounds about right.”
“I had to carry you to the truck.”
“Again, not surprising,” I muttered.
“And then I had to deal with your date,” he bit out.
I winced, thinking about how bad my brother must have been. “Sorry about that.”
“He thought a Cheeto was your house key.”
“Well…” Yeah, I had nothing to say to that. “Again, thank you.”
He stared at me for a moment, then shut the door in my face. I stared at the wood, running through our conversation in my head again. Then I kicked the door once again, this time thinking better about leaning my forehead against it.
When the door swung open, I pressed the items in my arms into his, then shoved past him into his rental. I barely made it to his kitchen counter without falling over.
“Sure, come in,” he muttered.
“The kettle won’t work, and I need tea to function.”
“How is that my problem?”
“God, my head is pounding. Like a nail driving into my skull. Do you know what that’s like?”
“I’m beginning to feel it right now,” he sighed, walking around to the other side of the counter.
The moment he set the kettle down, I let out a yelp as pain ricocheted in my head. “Do you have to be so loud?”
“You barged into my house.”
“Still…” I slumped over, sliding along the counter until I fell to the floor. “Ugh, that hurt.”
“Then you shouldn’t have fallen.”
“Aren’t you going to help me up?” I asked, my voice muffled by the floor pressed against my face.
I was hauled up not-so-gently and shoved onto a barstool that I questioned could actually keep me in place. But it was better than trying to stand on my own two feet.
“The kettle doesn’t work,” I mumbled.
