He somehow shifts closer, thigh pressed against me, fingers loosely tangled in mine again. I tell myself that if he were sober, I’d shove him away, establish boundaries. But he’s not sober, and he’s not doing this to get a rise out of me or to flirt. I think he’s just lonely and missing someone he cares about… and I guess I can relate to that.
A waitress brings our burgers and fries over, and sets them on the table, taking our number.
“Thank youuuu,” he sings, and then immediately grabs the ketchup bottle.
“Jesus, Chad,” I say as he continues squeezing the ketchup on the plate until it’s practically a mini mountain.
He stops, looks at the plate, and nods at it. “Perfect.” Then he dips a fry into the ketchup pile, takes a massive bite, and moans dramatically. “Oh my god. This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
“It’s a fry,” I deadpan. Seriously, how does he not realize how sexual half of the things he says sound?
“No, you have to try it, it’s so good,” he insists, picking up a fry that’s dipped in ketchup and holding it in front of my face. “John, try it.” I smack the fry away from his hand and he gasps. “John, that’s no fun!”
Then he picks up another one that’s not dipped in ketchup and holds it in his mouth between his lips. “Come on,” he mumbles the best he can around the fry. “Tryyyy it.” He leans forward, aiming his mouth at my face like this is the fuckingLady and The Tramp.“Hafe fun wif me.”
I stare at him as he leans closer. And closer.
“Chad,” I warn firmly.
His eyes go wide. They’re still a bit bloodshot but somehow still so full of hope that I’ll go along with this stunt.
“Chad,” I repeat, lower.
He freezes an inch from my face, and we stare at each other for a long moment, the fry brushing my bottom lip. He’s so close… and for an insane second, I wonder what it would be like if that fry wasn’t there.
Then he laughs through clenched teeth, breaking me out of whatever the fuck that was. His laugh is more of a wheeze, like he thinks this is the most hilarious thing in the world, and despite how chaotic this night has been, the pure unfiltered joy in his expression has me smirking back at him.
And because he’s drunk and ridiculous and leaning into me, and it’s been so long since I did anything “fun,” I think “fuck it” and bite the fry.
He squeals. Literally squeals at the fact I participated when he clearly wasn’t expecting it.
“Oh my god!” he shouts so loudly that I’m immediately aware of a few heads turning our way. I ignore them, hoping my face tells them tofuck off and turn around. “We did it! We shared a fry!”
I don’t know which of us is more surprised that I actually did that. There’s just something about him that makes it so fucking hard for me to refuse him.
It’s not because I wanted to see him smile like that again, obviously.
“We did. Now eat your food so we can go back to the hotel,” I order, and shockingly, he does what I say, finally eating some of his burger. We both finish quickly, thankfully without any more attempted sharing, and toss our trash on the way out. I have to steer him out the door, and I book us a car to go back to the hotel.
The ride back is mostly uneventful. Chad sits next to me in the backseat, and once again, reaches for my hand to interlock our fingers. At this point I’ve given up on fighting him—not that I even really tried to stop him—it’s easier to give into him than try to reason with him.
When we get back to the penthouse, I unlock the door and nudge him inside. He literally kicks off his shoes and one goes flying across the room, which makes him crack up.
One of the two bedrooms that are supposed to be split between me, him, and Ash is already closed. I knock on the door but there’s no reply, so I try the handle but it’s locked. Ash must’ve come back before us and claimed the room so Chad couldn’t possibly join him.
That leaves one bedroom and the couch.
I’m not thrilled about either option. As much as I’d love to plop him on the couch and say I’ve done enough, making sure he avoided a fight, ate, and made it back here alive, I also feel like a complete asshole not giving him the bed when he’s the one paying for the suite.
“Alright,” I say, turning back to Chad. “You’re in here.”
I half-guide, half-push him into the bedroom, and as he walks inside, I go to shut the door so I can sleep on thecouch. After all that, there’s no way I’m going out again. The thought of trying to forget about Chad tonight seems impossible, and now that I’m here, I just want to sleep.
“Wait, John.” He reaches out, stopping me from shutting the door.
“What now?” I sigh.
“Don’t leave me. Please,” he begs, quieter than he’s been in hours. I have no idea what he’s doing to make his eyes look so big, but it’s tugging at something in my chest.What the fuck is he doing to me?
