Dare’s hands pull me under my armpits, and then suddenly, I’m in his arms, cradled like a baby as he walks all the way up the trail.
“I’m too heavy,” I mumble into his shirt.
“You’re not,” his shirt answers.
He doesn’t stumble, he doesn’t falter, he simply grips me tight and makes the climb. He’s barely breathing heavily when we get to the top.
I open my eyes and see three blurry outlines of the funeral home above me, the jagged edges of the roof poking into the night. They blur together, then apart, then back together again. I close my eyes against the sight.
“I don’t want to go in there,” I manage to say clearly.
Dare stares down at me, and I swear I see sympathy in his eyes.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I snap.
He doesn’t answer. He just carries me down the path to his Carriage House.
He deposits me carefully on his sofa and leaves me for a second, then returns with a big glass of water and some aspirin.
“Take those,” he instructs firmly. “And then drink all the water. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”
I do as he says and then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, before pulling him down next to me.
“Where do you think Finn went?” I ask worriedly, even though the gin has mostly paralyzed my worry muscle. Dare stares down at me.
“He’ll be fine. You on the other hand, are going to have a big hangover tomorrow. Have you ever drank anything before?”
I shake my head and he sighs.
“Well, you certainly chose to start with a bang. Gin will put hair on your chest.”
“I like my chest the way it is,” I try to say. I must succeed because Dare’s eyes gleam.
“I do too,” he admits softly. I grab his hand and pull it to me, sliding it along my side, where he clamps down his fingers.
“Will you kiss me?” I ask. “I liked it when you kissed me.”
He sighs again. “I did too. But you’re drunk.”
“I’m drunk,” I snap. “Not dead.”
It’s a sentiment that makes very little sense, but I don’t hesitate. I just grab Dare’s face and pull him to my own, my lips crushing his. He tastes like spearmint and I taste like gin. It’s somehow an intoxicating combination, and with numbed fingers, I stroke the side of his stubbly jaw.
He doesn’t pull away for a minute, but then he finally does.
“You’re drunk,” he says again.
“Correct,” I slide into him, my face against his shoulder.
I pick up his hand, and wrap it around my back. “I like being here, with you,” I tell him. “I like how you smell. I like how you kiss. And I like how you’re beautiful.”
Dare stares down at me, amusement shimmering in his eyes. “I’m beautiful, then?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” I mutter. “You don’t need them.”
He grins. “Don’t I?”
“I’d like for you to kiss me again,” I announce, sitting up straight. I think.