Junkie(3)

Someone knocked into us from behind, causing me to lurch forward. My arms tightened around her so she wouldn’t fall, and I knocked into someone else as I tried to right us.

“My bad,” I called to whoever I’d shoved and pulled her through the dancers and toward the back door of the house.

“I need some air,” I called, and she nodded.

Outside, the air was cold. I probably should have noticed it more considering I was only wearing a T-shirt with my jeans. But I felt hot and I was totally wasted, so the elements were the last thing on my mind.

There weren’t many people out here. Actually, there wasn’t anyone except for some guy around the side of the house puking in the bushes. I pushed the girl up against the stone on the side of the house and bent to kiss her again.

She giggled, and my stomach rolled.

I ignored the feeling and fused our mouths together and grinded my lips over hers. When I didn’t get the reaction I wanted, I ripped my mouth free and changed directions, covering her once more. She kissed and sucked at my lips, at the same time running her fingers up the front of my chest, but still…

No reaction.

I felt nothing. No need. No excitement. My cock wasn’t even stirring in my jeans.

I pushed off her abruptly, and she blinked.

“Let’s go to your room,” she purred and brushed the back of her hand along my fly.

Suddenly, the entire world turned on its side, and I rushed away, over to the grass, where I immediately fell onto my knees and started puking.

Aaannnd that would explain the lack of excitement a few minutes ago.

Beer before liquor, never been sicker.

I retched a few more times, bringing up way more alcohol than I remembered drinking, and then sank back onto my haunches and wiped my face with the hem of my T-shirt.

My head was fuzzy, my insides shaken. Then I remembered the girl. I turned around to tell her I’d be fine in a few, but she was gone.

Guess my puking hadn’t been much of a turn-on.

Not that she had been either. Hell. First time I’d ever gone from making out to vomiting in two seconds flat.

Clearly, she wasn’t my type.

I laughed out loud. That was fucking hilarious.

I was still laughing when two jean-clad legs appeared before me. “What the fuck are you doing?” Drew asked, glaring down at me like I’d lost my mind.

“I was trying to get laid. She wasn’t my type.” I started laughing again.

“What was your first clue? The barf? Or maybe the fact that she left you out here to pass out in your own mess?”

“I’m not passed out,” I protested.

He made a sound. “Not yet.” Drew’s hands slid under my arms and he pulled me to my feet. I swayed like a hammock on a breezy beach, and his grip tightened. “How much did you fucking drink?”

“Don’t know,” I slurred.

“C’mon. Party’s over. We’re going home.”

“This ain’t my home,” I said, disgruntled.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he slid an arm around my waist and started leading me around the house, not back inside. I went along without a word because honestly, I didn’t care where he was taking me.

He smelled good.

“Wait,” I groaned and practically fell over and started puking again.

Drew muttered a few curse words as I retched but stayed right there standing over me, like he was keeping watch.

When I was done and my ribs ached from the heaving, he hauled me back up and led me toward the street where his vintage ‘69 Mustang was parked.

“This ain’t my room,” I said.

“I’m not leaving you here this drunk, asshole,” Drew said and yanked open the passenger door. “Who the fuck knows what the dickheads inside would do to you while you’re out?”

I sank into the seat and leaned my head back with a groan.

The next thing I knew, we were sitting outside Drew’s place and he was pocketing the keys. I fumbled with the handle, trying to get it open.

“Hang on,” Drew said, but I didn’t listen. I managed to fling open the door and fall out onto the driveway.

“Ow,” I grumped.

“Moron,” Drew said above me, and for the third time that night, he helped me up off the ground.

“Do me a favor and don’t wake up the entire house on the way in,” he bitched.

“You sound like a damn woman,” I mocked.

My feet didn’t work too good going up the stairs, but somehow, I made it. We stumbled into Drew’s room, and he shut the door behind us. I fell onto the bed backward, flinging out both my arms and staring up at the darkened ceiling.

Drew was moving around, and I turned my head to watch him bend forward to pull off his shoes. Next, he slid the black leather jacket he’d been wearing down his arms and flung it onto his dresser.