"Motherfucker." I try to move him again and this time, he doesn't reply, doesn't fight me as I find a way to get him into the passenger seat and get the belt clicked around him.
What in the hell was I thinking trying to go out tonight?
I'm pretty sure kids weren't jumping into random cars and passing out when I was younger, but considering I've been with my ex since I was sixteen, maybe I'm wrong.
With a sigh, I look in the rearview mirror and pull onto the street.
I could probably check his wallet and find his address, but I don't know what kind of situation I'd be taking him home to either. He could have a violent significant other or a shitty roommate, and I'm totally looking for excuses to be responsible for some kid I don't even know. It's a habit of mine-being overbearing and taking care of people. I'm working on it.
It's a short drive to my new apartment right outside of Midtown. This is the first time I've lived by myself, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit it feels strange.
Once I'm parked, I kill the engine and walk over to the passenger side. My drunk friend doesn't say a word as I open the door, take off his seat belt, and sigh because I'm obviously going to have to carry him inside.
"Put your arms around me," I say close to his ear before plucking him from the seat. He's light as hell, and his arms automatically wrap around my neck when I pick him up.
As I make my way through the lobby and toward the elevator, I hope no one comes out and sees me carrying a wasted guy into my apartment. That's the last thing I need.
The elevator dings, and I step inside. While it goes up to the twelfth floor, I lean against the wall and look down at him. There was something sad in his eyes tonight, something lonely. Or maybe I'm looking for shit that isn't there. What the fuck do I know?
It's less than two minutes later that I'm walking down the hall and opening the door to my place. There's not much furniture in it, despite the fact that I've been here a few weeks.
I do have a couch, so I lay him on it. He moans, and I find myself brushing the bangs off his forehead with my fingers. "Who are you?" I whisper as though he's going to answer. And then I realize how fucking stupid it is to bring some random guy home. "You try to rob me, and I'll kick your little ass," I tell him.
It's not something I'm worried about, but I am stressed about this guy being too fucked up to know what's going on. What if he's on something and gets sick?
Grumbling the whole time, I grab a small trash can and a blanket. I set the can beside him, then pull off his shoes and tuck the blanket over him.
"Fuck yeah, right there," he whispers, and it's obvious he's not just sexy, but horny too.
I head to the bathroom, take a quick piss, and wash my hands. I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. A second blanket in hand, I head back into the living room, kill the lights, and sit on the floor at the foot of the couch, keeping vigil like he's my responsibility.
I'm going to kill this kid when he wakes up in the morning.
Something rubs and scratches against my scalp. When I moan, the rubbing gets harder and fuck, this is a nice dream. A sexy dream. I miss sex. Want it something fierce.
"Wake up, gorgeous," whispers next to my ear. The voice is enough to make my eyes snap open, bringing me back to last night and-"You sleep like the fucking dead. I used a toothbrush I found in the bathroom that was still packaged. I was depressed as hell when I woke up, thinking maybe you fucked me and I don't remember, but you look like you're packing a big enough cock that I'd be sore in the morning."
Oh Jesus fucking Christ. I shove to my feet. "You should be a whole lot more than depressed about something like that. You should be scared as hell. If my son climbed into a car with a man or woman he didn't know and passed out, I'd kick his ass. What the hell were you thinking?"
The kid rubs his temples. "Shh. You're giving me a headache, and I also said I wanted to fuck you. Can you not compare me to your son? Because, ew."
Okay, so he has a point there. That's obviously not what I was thinking-just that he needs to take better care of himself. I open my mouth to tell him so but he speaks first.
"I love a good daddy, though. I'd totally be down for that kind of play if you want."
"Oh fuck." I look up at the ceiling and shake my head. Because that's where we should be going right now. Or not.
"You need to be careful. I could have hurt you last night. Or you could have climbed into a car with someone who would." I'd never thought about how easy it is to mistake any car for an Uber.