Page 118 of Fly Boy
“So fucking proud of you, baby,” he says and finally plants his mouth on mine.
And this feels better than winning third.
Chapter Forty-One
“One more shot,” Evancries as he thrusts a tiny glass into my hand. I eye the clear liquid and the empty one I did hours ago, knowing from experience that Evan’s choice of liquor is not great.
“No thanks.” I slide it back across the table in front of me.
“Boo,” he whines, then picks up the glass and tosses back the alcohol. He screws up his face as it goes down, shaking his head like a dog and smacking his hand down on the countertop. “Wow. I know I said one more, but I think I need another.”
I watch as he slides off his stool, stumbling slightly as he makes his way to the bar.
“Is he okay?” I ask Pippa, finding the same look of concern I’m feeling etched on her face.
“I have no idea,” she says, frowning when he bashes into some guy waiting in line. He turns around and sneers at Evan, which has Pippa gasping. “Shit, I better go get him.”
“I’ll go,” I say, heading for her drunken partner who, if he’s not careful, is going to get his ass kicked. Professional athlete or not. “Come, Evan, let’s get you to bed.”
He pouts before reaching up and bopping me on the nose. “No can do, Mr. Sexy Pilot Man. As much as I’d rock your world, I’ve got my eye on someone else.” His face falls. “I think.”
I sigh, refraining from pinching the bridge of my nose. So he’s in this state over some girl.
What is it about me that gives off relationship expert for the inebriated? First Bowie, now Evan?
“Let’s go, buddy. I’m sure it will be fine when you call her sober tomorrow.”
“Him,” Evan states, sliding an arm around my waist and leaning his head on my shoulder.
“Huh?”
“Him. Not her.” He tries to rear back but loses his footing. Grabbing his arm, I catch him before he careens into an empty table covered in glasses. “Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s not a problem,” I say, trying not to snarl. I’m too old for this shit. Looking after drunk assholes when I’d rather be in the hotel room, balls deep in my girl, is not my idea of fun. I fling his arm around my shoulder and take most of his weight, moving him along. “My brother’s gay.”
“Does he look like you?” Evan asks, his eyes hazy from the alcohol.
“I guess.”
“Oh, set me up,” he drawls, burping right in my ear.
I cringe, turning away from his face, the smell of tequila wafting from his lips. “I thought you had your eye on someone else?”
He lets out a long and exhausted breath. “Yeah, but his are closed.”
Pippa’s chewing on her thumb by the time we reach the table, which, given that we’re so close to the bar, took longer than necessary with Evan and his two drunk left feet.
“Is he okay?” she asks, watching as his head lolls to the side.
“Bit too much to drink, but he’ll be fine,” I tell her. Using my head, I nod toward the elevators. “Let’s get him to his room, yeah?”
Shifting off her stool, she grimaces as I try to get Evan to walk. “Do you want help?”
Tightening my grip, I take more of his weight. “It would be easier if I could throw him over my shoulder, but I don’t want to make a scene,” I say. “Grab his room key for me?”
Digging in his pocket, she pulls out this wallet and finds the white plastic room card tucked inside.
If I thought moving him from the bar to the table was hard, walking him across a busy lobby is damn near impossible. Not only does he not want to walk, but now and then, he gets a second wind, trying to wriggle out of my hold and speak to different athletes.
