Page 39 of Stop and Seek
“Do you want me to carry you?”
Theo’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing into a squint. “What?I’m not fucking dying, give me a sec.”
The rain pounded down, warm and relentless, soaking straight through his clothes, but Noah barely noticed. His focus was entirely on Theo—the wobble when hedidfinally manage to move,the sluggishness, the way he had to grab the top of the car for support.
“Offer is still there. I could carry you like a princess.”
“The fu—no. I’m fine,” Theo grumbled, though he wasn’t convincing. He sloshed to the entrance, patting down his back pockets. “You don’t have to follow me. I know how to walk.”
“And if you fall and bash your head—”
“—and blame it on you, blah blah blah,” Theo shot back over his shoulder. “It was funny the first time.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
Theo stopped once they were inside the door, his hand on the wall. “I fucking—” he inhaled. “I hate stairs.”
They hadn’t evenreachedthe stairs yet.
Noah looked from the three flights back to Theo.
How was his skinny ass planning to manage that when he couldn’t even walk straight for a hundred feet?
Stubborn.
Shaking his head, Noah slung Theo’s arm over his shoulder.
“I was going to say, if you fall and end up bleeding, no one’s awake. I can call an ambulance, you dipshit. Unless my phone’s water-logged.”
“Dipshit,” Theo giggled, the weight of his body too nice against Noah’s. “I like you. You’re a hoot.”
“Who says hoot?”
“Me.Here, stop.” Theo motioned to the door right off the first flight of stairs—Apartment B.
Noah’s gaze dropped and he leaned closer. “Why is there soup at your door?”
“Because Mrs. Rosario is a bomb-ass librarian.”
That… answered absolutely nothing.
Noah eyed the take-out container, hoping for a further explanation, but Theo was too busy fumbling with his keys. He nearly dropped them twice before the door swung open and he wiggled free from Noah’s hold and slipped inside.
Noah should have followed him in.
Hemeantto.
But he froze in the doorway.
He’d seen three types of living situations in his life.
There was his own—crappy, yeah, but it was semi-clean.
Then there was Max’s: pristine because shepaidsomeone to make it perfect.
And Kyran’s: a chaotic mess of sponsorship boxes and social media stuff.
But Theo’s apartment was on a whole different level.
