Trying to walk down the narrow wooden steps like this without falling sobers me up enough to deflate my cock. Carmen remains blissfully unsober, though, giggling through the treacherous descent.
She talks about her night out as I carry her toward the twenty-four-seven gas station. The same one we shared a midnight cup of coffee in. My chest squeezes at the thought. If I knew then that sooner than later I’d be carrying her on my back, feeling her flush against me, if I knew the things we’d end up doing together … well, I might not live to actually do any of that, because there’s a damn good chance I would have died of joy.
I dip down to let her off my back when we step inside the store, but the action is met with a protest. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, letting you down so I can shop?”
“But I wanna stay,” she groans.
Maybe part of me should be annoyed. But the fact that she’s comfortable enough around me to act like a complete idiot when she’s drunk, the fact that she’s comfortable with me taking care of her—well, a backache tomorrow is a small, small price to pay.
“Fine,” I answer, trying to make my voice sound begrudging, even though carrying her around like this is nothing but a privilege.
With Carmen on my back, I walk around the store, picking up medicine, Gatorade, and a sandwich for her to eat when we get back to her place. Carmen insists we get two containers of Pringles, too. Her reasoning being that she wants one entire container for herself, but she doesn’t want to eat alone, insisting that I have one as well.
Attempting to argue her drunken logic would be futile, so I pick up the sour cream and onion flavor she requests and a regular flavor for myself.
“Just the regular?” she asks, disapproval evident in her voice. “Booooo. Boring.”
I laugh. “I’m not a big Pringles guy.”
She gasps. “Don’t say that again, and I’ll pretend I never heard it in the first place.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Fine, I’ll get a sour cream and onion, too.”
“Copy-cat.”
I huff in exasperation, even though I’m enjoying every second of this absurd moment. “Fine. I’ll try … the cedar cheese.”
“An excellent choice.”
Carrying all the stuff and fishing my wallet out of my pocket to pay at the counter are not easy tasks, but against all odds, soon we’re back outside in the cold, heading home.
Heading home. With Carmen. I hardly drank tonight, but I’m suddenly lightheaded and giddy like I’m at the most pleasant point of intoxication. The crisp, lamp-lit night feels like it’s taken on a golden glow.
“Admit it,” Carmen says minutes later, when she’s sprawled out on the couch and I’m sitting with my legs tucked under me on her floor. “You’re glad I made you get those Pringles.”
She levels that accusation at me with her mouth full of chips, and I respond in the same condition.
“You’re right. If I were sitting here watching you eat those without a cannister of my own, I’d be very tempted to steal some from you.”
“With my kitchen knives just a couple steps away, you’d be making a risky move in that case.”
“As if you could even stand up right now.”
“Touche.”
“Eat your sandwich, too. It’ll be better at soaking up the alcohol, and you’ll have less of a hangover tomorrow.”
“That sounds like bro science.”
I roll my eyes. “Just eat it.”
“You’re very insistent about me putting things into my mouth tonight. I wonder if that’s a sign of things to come.”
Heat twists at the base of my balls. “Not tonight. You’re in no condition.”
“Party pooper.”
