They piled one by one into their seats, completely silent. Charlotte was unaware of what happened, so she started chatting up a storm once the truck was full.
“Hi, everyone!” she exclaimed. “I’m Charlotte, Lanie’s friend. So you guys all live together?” Her bright smile was met with solemn stares from the others in the car. All but one.
“Oh christ,” Ava mumbled.
I shot her a look in the rearview mirror before taking Charlotte’s hand in mine.
“Ty over there on the other side of you doesn’t live with us. It’s just me with all these fine ladies,” I told her.
Charlotte sensed the tension in the truck by this point, squeezing my hand to let me know, and remained quiet the rest of the drive home.
CHAPTER 10
Logan
On the ride home, I’d determined Charlotte was more intoxicated than I first thought. I knew she’d been drinking, but as she slumped against my shoulder during the drive, it became clear how much. She grew as quiet as the rest in the truck, the radio the only sound in the cab.
When I parked, and the doors opened for the others to exit, Charlotte stirred next to me. We waited a few minutes before getting out ourselves. It gave her some time to become more alert. Plus, I hoped it gave my roommates time to get to their own rooms.
“Ready?” she asked.
Nodding, I opened my door and slid out, holding out my hand for her.
“I’m sorry about all of that, if it made you uncomfortable,” I told her.
“No worries, roommates can be tricky.”
She had no idea how right she was. As we entered the townhouse, I was relieved to find the downstairs empty and quiet. Everyone had gone upstairs. Making my way to the kitchen, I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and handed her one.
“Would you like to head up to my room?” I wasn’t going to make any assumptions about why she came home with me. “Or do you want to hang out down here? We could watch TV or something.”
She came close, her hands landing on my chest as she looked into my eyes. She had pretty eyes, but they were bloodshot from drinking.
“Logan, I didn’t come home with you to watch TV.” Reaching down, she took my hand. “I’m assuming your room is upstairs?”
I nodded and she started for the stairs, pulling me along.
There was a girl I hung out with at home, Sara, during my break from school. She and I met at the counseling center. It was frowned upon for us to be in a “relationship,” especially with someone from the group. But we decided to hang out anyway, we both needed the companionship.
We talked about everything. Our pasts, our problems, our hopes for the future. It was comforting having a friend dealing with similar issues.
Then it became more than friendship.
We had sex.
We had good sex.
There was comfort in her being the one I’d been with. She knew so much about me from our sessions together. And all our late-night talks.
Maybe that was why I felt comfortable with Charlotte, too. She was just as easy to talk to. She didn’t judge when I told her why I wasn’t drinking. Instead, she found it admirable.
Courageous even.
She reminded me of Sara.
But I wish she was more sober.
“This is my room,” I told her, guiding her toward my door.
