“I think I need to close my eyes for a minute,” Slade murmured as he slumped down, putting his head on Carson’s leg, forcing him to move his arm.
“We’ll be there in two minutes,” Atticus said from the front seat. “Don’t you dare puke in my truck.”
Slade curled up in what looked to be the most uncomfortable position since he was too tall to fit on the seat, even if Carson hadn’t been there. Carson shifted, trying to give Slade more room. It caused his arm to slide down from where he had rested it across the back of the seat, his hand landing on Slade’s arm.
To his shock, Slade grabbed his hand and pulled it so that Carson’s arm was draped over him.
“Have I told you how much I hate her?” Slade mumbled, still holding Carson’s hand. “She’s such a bitch.”
Carson didn’t say a word. He agreed with Slade on every level, but he figured his input wasn’t necessary. Slade would not remember any of this come morning. However, he would likely have a hangover from hell.
“One minute,” Atticus noted, then mumbled, “Please, God, don’t let him puke.”
“Do you love him?” Slade asked, the words weaved together.
Carson wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
“Because I do,” he added, his voice softer. “I love him. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
Carson looked up, noticing that Atticus was angling to see his face in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah,” Carson said, holding Atticus’s stare. He didn’t elaborate, but he wanted to get it out there.
For the past four weeks, Carson had gone over things in his head a couple dozen times, trying to figure out why his feelings for Atticus were so strong. They’d spent one night together and exchanged only a few text messages, so it didn’t make sense that he’d felt this foreign sensation in his chest. He’d only ever felt this for one other person—the man now passed out in his lap—but he’d never acknowledged what it was.
With Atticus, he didn’t have that luxury because he was overwhelmed by his feelings. Even more so now that Atticus was back.
This time was different, too. Yeah, Carson had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, and he constantly thought about all the ways he wanted to make Atticus come, but it was more than mere sex. In fact, his thoughts were PG-rated most of the time, which was definitely new. Even the ones that included Slade. And though he knew Slade didn’t reciprocate his feelings, Carson couldn’t stop thinking about him either.
He’d earned every ounce of Slade’s animosity, and he was past the point of thinking he could salvage anything with him. The man had told him he wanted nothing to do with him. Carson was doing his best to honor that.
Slade shifted, gently squeezing Carson’s hand as though he didn’t want to let him go. The man was intoxicated. He had no idea what he was doing, but Carson allowed himself to pretend otherwise for a brief moment.
***
“You headin’ out already?”
Evan followed the sound of Baz’s voice, looking for the man through the haze of alcohol. That haze had started as a light fog early in the night, but instead of slowing down, Evan had continued tossing back drink after drink, attempting to dull his senses. He rarely did because he didn’t have the opportunity. He’d given himself more rope tonight, telling himself he deserved it. For this one brief night, he had nothing else to do but enjoy. So he did.
Unfortunately, it was coming to an end, and he needed to get home so he could sober up before dawn when his daughter would be up. He absolutely didn’t want her to catch a glimpse of him in his current state. No doubt, he looked far worse than he felt.
“Early day tomorrow,” Evan told him as he fought to stand upright.
“You want me to drive you?” Baz offered.
He shook his head, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. Only it wasn’t there. He glanced down to see that it was sitting on the table. He leaned forward, throwing off what little balance he had. Luckily, Baz was there to hold him up.
“Uber,” Evan told him, snagging his phone and holding it up.
His face hurt from smiling, and he realized he’d been doing it all night. The alcohol’s fault, no doubt. It was the first time he’d indulged in a really long time, and he knew he was going to pay for it come morning.
“Here.” Baz took his phone. “Let me do it for you.”
“Thanks, man.” Evan used the back of the chair to hold himself up. “You’re a good friend.”
Baz laughed. “Yes, I am.”
Nearly half an hour later, Evan was getting out of the car, thanking the driver before heading up the narrow walkway to the front door. The porch light was on, making it easier to stumble up the front steps toward the door. He took his time, letting the cool breeze flush some of the heat from his system. It didn’t help much, but the last thing he wanted was to stumble around drunk once he was inside.
