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His laugh rumbles against me, low and unfiltered, and the sound goes straight through me. He’s hot everywhere our bodies touch, smelling of bourbon and the clean, warm something that’s just… him.

I go tense, every cell screaming move, but I can’t. My thoughts scatter, his heat sinking into me, melting through every objection I’ve ever had. It’s absurd, infuriating, and entirely unfair how easy he makes it to forget the rest of the world is still spinning around us.

He shifts beneath me, just enough that his hand is free to come up—clumsy and warm—to cup my cheek. His thumb moves to the center of my lips and presses there. His eyes are half open, and the way he’s looking at me knocks the breath right out of me.

“So perfect,” his words are a bit slurred, “let me be your boyfriend for real.”

I panic, hoping no one else in the room heard him say that.

I open my mouth to tell him he’s drunk, that he doesn’t know what he’s saying—but he’s already gone. His head lolls back against the couch, his fingers still curved against my face, apparently not getting the memo to let go.

For a long moment, I just sit there, caught between amusement and something that feels a lot like fondness. Then I sigh, because of course this is how the night ends—with Theo passed out and Baryn somewhere in the background, probably enjoying every second of this perceived humiliation.

I finally look up, and of course Baryn’s staring at us, leaned back in the armchair, watching the scene like it’s peak entertainment.

“Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t say a word.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Good,” I snap. “Then make yourself useful. Help me get him up.”

Baryn just glares at me. “You want me to carry your boyfriend?”

“Yes. Pick him up before I decide to test how much blunt force trauma it takes to wipe that pompous look off your face.”

Emily hiccups a laugh from somewhere near the floor, where she’s halfheartedly collecting the cards. “I’ll get the door!” she declares, overly proud of herself for offering to help.

Theo mumbles something incoherent and slumps further into the couch.

“Perfect,” I huff.

Baryn narrows his eyes, sets down his drink, and moves toward us. “You know, I’ve been called many things, Lila, but ‘useful’ isn’t usually one of them.”

“First time for everything,” I say, grabbing Theo’s arm while Baryn takes the other. He’s heavy, and it’s awkward, to the extent that I can’t help much because he’s so much fucking taller than I am.

Emily staggers ahead, holding the door open. “You guys are doing great,” she slurs unhelpfully.

“Emily,” I say through gritted teeth, “please stop talking.”

Baryn grunts as we maneuver Theo down the hall. “You know, for someone who hates me, you’re awfully demanding.”

“I’m restraining myself from homicide,” I shoot back. “Helpmehe’ssliding!”

Theo’s head drops against the top of mine, breath warm in my hair, and Baryn chuckles under his breath.

“Shut up,” I say again, because it’s the only thing I can manage while holding up a drunk man, tolerating a perfidious one, and praying Emily doesn’t trip and take us all down with her.

By the time we reach the bedroom, I’m sweating, and Theo’s groaning something about unfair elections. It takes both of us to get him onto the bed.

“You’re welcome,” Baryn says, straightening his sleeves.

I glare. “Get out.”

He steps back with a low laugh and a mock salute. I don’t watch him leave. I’m too busy trying to maneuver Theo fully onto the mattress.

He’s useless—half-awake, heavy, mumbling nonsense into the top of my head.

When he finally situates himself, he tugs at my sleeve again, nearly taking me down with him.