Page 21 of Needed You

His words are getting quieter, and I can tell he’s tired. I can’t leave him alone, not when he’s puking his guts out and god knows how much he had to drink. I’m sure as hell not going to stay at that house, either, bombarded by memories of Nate and our time as kids. My decision not to return there all these years has been intentional, and I don’t think I’m changing my mind now.

I’ll take him to my apartment instead. It’s probably a very bad idea, but I don’t think I have many other choices at this point.

I pull up to the front of my apartment a few minutes later and cut the engine. “Hold on,” I say to him as I get out and walk around to his door.

Of course he doesn’t listen, and I have to rush to his side to meet him as he opens his door. He’s already trying to get out of the car. He pitches forward, and I grab him under his armpits.

“Woah, woah,” I say, helping him get out. My nose brushes into his hair, and I’m filled with the scent of soap and something clean, although he still reeks of vomit and beer as well.

He’s laughing again, and I realize it’s going to be a long night.

“Come on. Let’s go.” I help him walk to the apartment, and we head right to the bathroom. He’s very unsteady on his feet and a sort of deadweight against me. I pull him a little bit closer.

“Lev,” he says, “I’m going to puke again.” He rushes ahead of me to the toilet and drops to his knees. Then he continues to empty the contents of his stomach into the bowl.

“Jesus, Dare. How much did you drink tonight?” I ask.

He gets up, and I pull out a toothbrush and some toothpaste from below the sink and hand them to him. While he starts to brush, I grab a towel and washcloth out of the linen closet and set them on the counter.

“The shower has a bench if you think you can safely clean yourself off. I’ll wash your stuff.”

He spits into the sink and turns his glassy eyes to me, a devious sparkle in them. My stomach squeezes.

“You’re gonna washhhhhmy stufffffff, Lev? My stuff.” He pushes his groin forward, and I freeze. “Dewyou want to wash my stuff, Leeeevon?” He swirls his hips in a circle.

“Fuck off, Darian,” I say. I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. “Get in the shower. You need one. You stink.”

He looks at me, eyes glazed. “I’m gonna take a showwwwer.” I smirk at his obvious statement. “I do stink. I think I fell in beer.” He hiccups.

I manage a laugh. “You did, you jackass. Be careful in the shower. Throw your clothes out to me when you’re done.”

He nods, and I shut the door, rubbing my face hard with my hands. Why do I find this all so endearing? I have Darian Archer in my house. He’s drunk off his ass, puking his guts out, and he’s in my shower. He’s getting naked right now, too. He’s adorably drunk, sexy and naked in my shower. I’d kind of like to see what naked Dare looks like.

Fuck.

No, no, no, no. I will my stirring cock to settle down. You cannot get hard right now. This is not the time nor the place.

Just when it seems like I’m going to lose the battle with my stupid, horny dick, I hear the bathroom door open, and a hand shoots out, holding a bunch of black clothing.

“Oh, your clothes,” I say, snapping myself out of . . . whatever that was.

I grab the clothes from him. They’re still damp, and they smell. Gross. I throw them into the hamper and then go to my drawer and pull out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“Here,” I say to Dare with a little rap on the bathroom door.

He cracks the door open and takes the clothes, then freezes in place for a second, his body still in the bathroom and his arm hanging out the door, holding my sweatpants and T-shirt. I hear the shower water running as he stands on the other side of the door, and my pulse is pounding in my head.

Naked. He’s naked.

He mumbles something that might be a “thanks,” and the door clicks shut again. I stand there. Just stand there like an asshole for a few minutes, staring at the door like I’m going to be able to see through it or something. I want to see through it, and that thought jolts me back to reality.

Shaking my head, I spin around, grab the clothes hamper, and head out of my bedroom to the washing machine. It only takes me a minute to get his clothes into the machine and get it started. Then I make my way to the kitchen to get us both bottles of water. After I close the refrigerator, I have to stop for a minute and take it all in. I stand in my kitchen, my hands on the counter and my arms extended as I hang my head and breathe deeply.

This is so weird, him being here, in my apartment. Maybe it shouldn’t be weird—I’m just a friend, helping him out, after all. But it feels weird, for whatever reason.

When I hear the water shut off, I fish a couple of pain pills out of a bottle in the kitchen cabinet and head back to the bedroom. Dare’s going to have a heck of a headache in the morning.

As soon as I walk into the bedroom, I freeze, and my mouth goes dry. Dare stands in the middle of my room in my sweats and my T-shirt, and he looks . . . fucking adorable. Hot. Sexy, even. The oversized sweats hanging low on his narrow hips, his wet hair starting to curl at the ends, his green eyes sparkling, and his lips—my god, his lips with that black lip ring standing out against his pale skin. He looks good, and I have the urge to bite that lip and suck on the ring. He’s not normally so pale, but I guess puking your guts out will do that to you.