Page 22 of Pick One
“Can I be arrested for refusing to leave our apartment, even if you ask me to?” I demanded as he towed me through the crowd. I didn’t pull my wrist away—I wanted his hands on me, and I told myself this might be the last time I got to enjoy it.
Because John was incredibly quick-witted—and, yes, used to dealing with my random thoughts after a year of friendship—even while slightly inebriated, he didn’t hesitate. “No, you couldn’t. But then, I’d never ask you to, so the point is moot.”
I hustled faster to stay by his side and used my free hand to grasp his bicep. “Pick one, John!” I insisted passionately. “Showing consideration for your best friend and roommate, even if it means no sex… Or having loud, passionate sex with a guy just to get your rocks off, even if it leads your roommate to abject misery later.”
John stopped and blinked down at me sadly. “Those the only choices?” he asked, his voice so low I had to read his lips. “Friendship or sex?”
I nodded solemnly, making my hair fall over my eye. “I just don’t know how else it can work. I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed.”
His whole face collapsed, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s safe to say. Well, that answers that, I guess. Thanks for letting me know. I’m heading out. Enjoy your night with…” He glanced back at the dance floor. “Whoever.”
I blinked at him, definitely feeling a few margaritas shy of comprehending what was going on here.
“John!” I yelled, my voice getting lost in the buzz of chatter as I darted around patrons in an attempt to catch up. “Excuse me. John, wait, I— Oh, oops. Pardon me.John!”
Miraculously, he heard me and turned toward me.
“John, why are you—”
I slipped on a wet patch of floor, and suddenly I was falling. I grabbed for the closest thing to break my fall and ended up yanking Nicki to the ground along with me…
Or, more accurately, yanking Nickiand the full tray of drinks she carriedto the ground along with me.
I screamed in shock as a torrent of icy liquid ran down my back and arm, plastering my shirt to my body. Nicki’s tray thumped down on my head.
“Oh, shit! Teagan!” Nicki cried, grabbing the tray. “Are you okay?”
Was I? I landed hard on one knee and one palm, and I knew both would bruise. But far, far worse was the sting to my pride. “Yeah,” I sniffled. “I’m okay.” A small sob bubbled out of my chest before I could help it.
“T? Oh, fuck. Oh, Jesus. Teagan?” John’s voice held none of its usual calm steadiness. As soon as he reached me, he knelt and scooped me bodily off the floor like I weighed nothing, then held me in his strong arms. “Are you okay? Baby, your head. Are you…?”
For one second, I let myself revel in the feeling of him holding me. It was everything I wanted.
“I need to go home,” I told him. And not just because I smelled like several breweries, a distillery, and an orange grove had all vomited on me simultaneously.
“I’ll take you,” John said firmly. He set me on my feet but held me against his side, much the way he’d held Goodman earlier. I was too weak-willed to push him away.
After spending ten minutes assuring Nicki and her manager that I was okay, and apologizing profusely for the chaos, I let John lead me out.
Outside, the night had gotten much cooler. A cold breeze blew against my soaked shirt, and I set my teeth.
A group of women chatted noisily while smoking cigarettes, and a pair of men were huddled on the curb, one holding his head in his hands while the second hovered protectively. The second man stood up as we approached.
“Teagan?” Knox asked, his deep voice concerned. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Hey. I… had a little incident with a tray of drinks.” I massaged my sore palm. “I’m fine. Just soaked.”
Knox looked at John with narrowed eyes, like maybe he was responsible for this debacle, then back at me. “I’m taking Goodman to our hotel. Our ride’s on the way. But we can take you to—”
“John!” Goodman called drunkenly without looking up from the sidewalk. “John! D’you remember what I said earlier?”
John looked at me a little guiltily and licked his lips. “Uh. The one where you compared men and… murder cows?”
“Jesus,” Knox muttered.
“No!” Goodman said defensively. “Although, dude, I stand by that. I mean the part I told you when we were dancing.” He lowered his voice to a very loud whisper. “The part about…eyeballs?”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember.”
