Page 20

Shortly after I send my text, Chris appears at the door. I meet him there, and he hands me a cold plastic bottle. “You good?” he asks.

I nod and glance back toward Dare. “Yeah. I’ll make sure he gets home safely.” I hold up the water bottle. “Thanks for this, man.”

Chris nods and then heads back into the bar.

Letting out a breath, I walk over to Dare and take the cap off the bottle. “Here,” I say, handing it to him. “Drink.”

He smirks at me as he takes the water. I wish I knew what was so funny. He takes a sip and leans back in the chair. I’m buzzing with nervous energy. My heart’s racing, and my palms are sweaty, and I’m trying to decide what to do with him and how to get him home. I’m not sure that I can trust a rideshare car, like an Uber or Lyft, to get him there, and I’m sure as hell not trusting someone else.

What would he do once he got dropped off? Can he make it into his house? Would someone take advantage of him?

Realizing that I’m going to be the one to have to take him home, I pull my keys out of my pocket. “Let’s go.” I motion him up, slipping my hand under his arm. His clothes are damp from the spilled liquid, but I notice the tightness of his muscles more than the wetness of his clothes. A shiver runs through me at our contact.

Dare gets up and lets me lead him to my car. “Whaddaaare we doin’?” he slurs, his head flopping around loosely on his neck.

“Getting you home safely,” I tell him.

“I’m ffffine,” he murmurs, the f in the word drawn out a little bit longer than it should be. He stumbles over his own feet.

“Yeah. You’re fine,” I scoff, holding him tighter to steady him. “Just get in the car.” I open the door and hold his arm as he slides in and slumps down into the seat rather roughly. I shake my head and shut his door. Then I walk around to the driver’s side and climb in.

What am I doing?

I’m immediately met with the smell of stale beer and something else. Whiskey? I don’t know, but it’s strong.

“You stink,” I tell him.

He scoffs. “You stink,” he mimics. “Well youuuuuu smell reeeeallly gooooood.” His head lies against the headrest, and he turns to look at me, those emerald eyes sparkling in the illumination from the lights in the parking lot. He reaches up and rubs his hand down the side of my face, and I bat it away, goose bumps erupting on my arms. I huff a humorless laugh and pull out of the lot.

Thankfully, the drive is short, and I have the windows down both to give Dare some fresh air and to air out the car so it doesn’t smell like a bar tomorrow. As we near the side of town that our houses are in, I ask Dare where he lives. He confirms that he’s still at the house he grew up in, and as he finishes that sentence, he immediately follows with, “Imma throw up.”

We’re on the back roads now, so I quickly pull over to the shoulder and tell him to open his door. He leans out the side of the car and pukes what seems like everything he had in his stomach for a week. When he’s done heaving, he sits back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He groans.

I hand him the bottle of water again. “Drink.”

“Yerrrr so bossy.” He takes the bottle and puts it to his lips.

I can’t help the smile that tries to spread across my face. I catch a glimpse of the lip ring in his bottom lip, and something stirs inside my groin. His lips are just beautiful. Oh my god, Lev. Stop.

I shake myself out of my daze and start down the road again.

Just as we’re pulling onto his street, my heart starts thumping in my chest. I didn’t clock it until now, but bringing him home means going back into the house where we all used to hang out. The house where my best friend used to live, where I have so many memories of so many good times.

I have no idea what that’s going to be like, being hit by everything all at once. I haven’t been inside the house since the day after Nate’s funeral. And I don’t know if I even can right now.

Dare pulls me back to reality, announcing that he has to vomit again. I stop the car, and he opens the door, letting another large amount of liquid out of his system.

When he sits back up, his eyes are closed, and his breathing is erratic. “Uhhhhghhhh,” he groans, a little cough escaping his lips.

I thought he smelled bad before, but now? Ugh is right.

“Is anyone home, Dare?” I ask.

“Nope.” His lips pop on the p at the end of the word. “I purrritty mush live herrrrre alooooooone.”

Making a decision that I know I will have to justify later, I pass his house and keep going.

“Heyyyy,” he drawls. “Daasss my houssssse.”