“I’m just going to go to sleep here. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not sleeping on the stairs so I can find you in a bloody heap at the bottom in the morning.”
A smile pulls at his lips. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say, tugging at his arm as I expertly avoid his question.
“Nah,” he says, sliding up against the banister. “I live here now.”
“Ashton,” I scold.
“Shhh,” he slurs. “I’m sleeping.”
His eyes flutter closed, and his breathing evens out.
“Ashton,” I try again. Giving up, I sink down to the floor next to him, letting my head fall on his shoulder. How did we even get here? Three months ago I thought I would never have to see him again. Now I can’t seem to stay away. My mind wanders to what he said back at the party. It hurt to hear him basically call me a druggie, but what hurt even more was that he was right. I do use alcohol and pills to escape reality—to cope.
Ashton stirs under my head, and I turn to see his honey-colored eyes roaming over me, licking his lips. “I never got to give you your birthday sex,” he says softly.
What? How did he even know? I make it a point to never tell anyone about my birthday.
“It’s okay,” he says, sitting up and resting his elbows against the tops of his thighs. “Just gimme one sec. Then I’m gonna fuck you so good, you won’t be able to walk.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. I’m well aware that I’m in a similar situation as I was a month ago. Alone with a drunk guy. But the similarities end there. Ashton is nothing like Craig. I think I might trust him. I truly believe that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Drunk, high, it doesn’t matter. His soul ispure, just like Declan said. Even when he made that comment about the pills, not even a full second passed before he apologized. I know he didn’t mean it to be hurtful. He was frustrated.
“C’mon buddy, you gotta give me something here,” I hear him say as he looks down at his lap. I’m confused for a moment before I realize he’s talking to his dick.
“Ash, I don’t think that’s going to be happening tonight.” I gently place a hand on his thigh. “I’ll tell you what. If you let me put you to bed, I’ll stay.”
His eyes light up like a kid who was just told he was going to Disneyland. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Come on.”
He stands up, but as he does, a faint look of panic crosses his face. Shit, I’ve seen that look.Please don’t puke. Please don’t puke.
“Ashton, I have to be honest with you right now. If you throw up, I’m out.”
He giggles like he’s a fourth grader passing notes with his friends in the back of the classroom. “You don’t have to hold my hair,” he slurs.
“No, I don’t think you understand. I can’t even be remotely near it.”
His eyes land on me, and his smile fades. “I won’t throw up. I promise.”
I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing you can promise, but I’ll take it for now.
We make our way to his bedroom, and I turn the dimmer on just high enough for us to see but so it’s not too bright. If he doesn’t already have a headache, he will soon.
He flops down on his king-size bed, kicking his boots off, and the fluffy duvet envelops him.
“Do you want to get undressed?” I ask.
“I thought you said that wasn’t happening?” He sits up on hiselbows and looks down like he’s about to have another talk with his dick.
“I mean, so you can get more comfortable. Where are your pajamas?”
“Don’t wear them,” he says casually. “I usually just sleep in my underwear.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
