Page 17 of Something Good
He searched my eyes, the intensity of those blue irises looking for something I didn’t care to examine. Whatever it was, he must have found it. “Fine,” he spit out. He took his phone out of his pocket, we exchanged numbers, and he gave me the keys, saying, “I don’t like this.”
“Noted,” I said and walked away. This time, he let me.
Thankfully,when I got back to the Jeep, Will was still snoozing with his head leaned against the window, and there weren’t any signs of puking. I had a quick debate with myself over where to take him, knowing that the golden boy probably wouldn’t want his mom to know he’d been drinking. I wasn’t super keen on taking him back to my house either, but in the end, I turned the car in that direction. Last I’d heard, Mom was in Omaha with Carlyle, and Jimmy was staying with a friend.
We pulled up in front of my darkened house, and I realized I wasn’t going to be able to get Will inside by myself. I leaned over and nudged him several times, finally jostling him hard enough that he opened his eyes. He squinted at me, blearily looking around the interior of the car as if trying to make sense of his surroundings. He opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it again, his eyes widening in panic as he desperately tried to open the door. Recognizing the signs of imminent vomiting,I quickly hopped out of the Jeep and ran around to the other side, yanking the door open just in time. I jumped back as he leaned over and emptied the contents of his stomach all over the running board and ground below.
Goddammit, this guy was a pain in my ass.
After several rounds of vomiting, he sat up and leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I muttered more to myself than him, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder while trying to avoid the puddle of puke he’d conveniently left directly in front of his exit from the car. “Come on, Will. Wake up. We need to get you inside.”
“Just leave me here,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.
“Nope,” I said, nudging him harder. “I’m not leaving you here to aspirate on your own vomit. Let’s go. I can’t carry you. You’re going to have to get yourself out of this car.”
He rolled his head toward me and cracked one eye open. “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’ Is it weird that I don’t want you to die choking on your own puke in front of my house?”
“No.” He absently swiped at his mouth. “I mean, why are you helping me? You hate me.”
If he only knew. Iwantedto hate him. Life would be so much easier that way.
“I’m not going to have this conversation with you at one in the morning, standing over a puddle of your puke when you’re not even remotely sober.”
“Will you tell me in the morning?”
“We’ll see if you even remember this conversation in the morning.”
“I will,” he said like a petulant toddler.
I doubted it.
“Can we please go inside?”
“Fine,” he said.
We managed to make it inside, only getting a little puke on one of his shoes. I made him take them off at the door and leave them on the porch. My house might be a shit hole, but that didn’t mean I wanted it to smell like vomit.
We reached my room, where I dumped him on my twin bed. He immediately closed his eyes and curled into a ball facing the wall. I rolled my eyes but headed into the kitchen to grab a cup of water and a large bowl. Fuck if he was going to throw up in my bed tonight.
I returned to my bedroom, noting that Will hadn’t moved. I debated undressing him but decided not to fuck with it. He’d been dumb enough to get himself drunk. He could sleep uncomfortably in his damn clothes.
I stripped out of my shorts and T-shirt, threw on a pair of athletic shorts, and climbed into bed next to him. I could have slept in Jimmy’s bed on the other side of the room, or I could have thrown some blankets on the floor and crashed there. Either of those would have been a smarter choice than squeezing into the space next to him.
I’d never been good at making the smarter choice.
It should have been uncomfortable sleeping next to him, squished into a twin bed with my childhood best friend. I should have been concerned about how good his warmth felt next to me, should have been worried about how much I wanted to reach out and brush his hair back off his forehead. My fingers twitched with the urge.
I should have been all those things, but instead, I gently rested a hand on his hip and slept.
9
WILL
It wasthe pounding in my head that woke me first. I’d heard a jackhammer used to describe the intensity of a hangover-induced headache, and I thought the description was apt. My bladder was next, though I didn’t move to get up immediately, as I also became aware of an arm draped over my hip and a foot trapped between mine.
