Two and a half hours later, I was drunk. Toasted, bombed, schnockered. Whatever the word was for total incapacitation with a limited ability to speak coherently or walk without bumping into inanimate objects. I wasn’t the only one. Some of my fellow partiers were dancing on tables; others lost key articles of clothing as they grinded against each other. And I was pretty sure I heard the telltale sounds of sex in progress when I passed the guest bedroom. Then again, I wasn’t “sure” of anything. I was dazed and confused.
I cut myself off just after midnight and sat on the deck in the backyard, guzzling water while my friends debated the state of hip-hop music’s cultural influence. Or maybe they were just talking about scoring tickets to Coachella next year. I had a hard time following. Thankfully, it wasn’t a conversation that required much input. I was happy to hang out, stare at the stars, and be grateful Gabe had disappeared. And not with Amanda. I eyed her across the lawn, chatting with a couple of her sorority sisters and Mitch and Evan.
I’d have to ask Evan what they talked about tomorrow. But now…I just wanted to go home. I sent Evan a quick text and waited for him to respond. I watched him pick his phone from his pocket, glance at the screen, and then shove it back without replying. Asshole. I tried again.
Are you ready?
Evan retrieved his cell again, then shot a dirty look at me and shook his head no just as one of Amanda’s friends slipped her hand under his shirt. Or maybe it was Amanda. I couldn’t tell and I no longer cared. I gave a series of exaggerated hand signals to let him know I was leaving. Then I stumbled to my feet and said a round of good-byes before making my way through the house and out the front door.
I paused to uncap my water bottle on the sidewalk and noticed a figure standing in the street next to a smallish car. The contrast of the tall man and the tiny vehicle caught my attention. I couldn’t tell who it was but when he waved, I returned the gesture and continued down the block.
“Hey, Vaughn! Did you hear me?”
“Huh?” I stopped in my tracks, then walked back toward the car and cast a wary gaze between the Mini Cooper and the guy I’d been avoiding for the past three hours.
“It’s me…Gabe. Do you want a ride?”
Did I? My head felt clearer than it had an hour ago, but I was still tipsy. “Um…”
When I hesitated a second too long, he laughed, then moved to open the passenger-side door. “Get in. You’re drunk.”
I obeyed but of course, I felt the need to defend myself. “I’m not drunk.”
“Yeah, you are,” he countered without heat.
“Okay, maybe I’m a little drunk, but I’m not totally gone. I just feel loopy, you know?”
“I’ve been there. But I’ve been drinking water all night, so you’re in good hands. Where do you live?”
“Four blocks away. I’m on Coronado. Why are you still here? I thought you would have invited my ex back to your place by now,” I said conversationally, setting my empty water bottle in the cupholder before fastening my seat belt.
“You’re a dick, Vaughn.”
I chuckled at his beleaguered sigh and twisted in my seat to face him. God, he was so…chiseled. He reminded me of a Greek statue with his high cheekbones and strong jaw and—oh, fuck. I willed myself not to say anything stupid when that odd, crushy feeling came over me again. It made me feel tingly inside and reckless.
“I have my moments. But you’re a bigger dick than me,” I argued.
“How did you know I have a bigger dick than you?”
“Ha. Ha.” I unbuckled my belt and was about to unzip my jeans when Gabe set his hand over my wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna prove my dick is bigger,” I slurred. Yep, my hidden reckless side had resurfaced and gone rogue.
Gabe paused at the stop sign and looked over at me. “Not necessary. Put your python away, Vaughn, and tell me where to go.”
I chuckled heartily. “It’s four blocks up on your left. I think.”
“Got it. Just so we’re clear, I’m not into your ex. She seems cool, but there’s nothing between us.”
“Did I say there was?”
“Yeah. When you first got in my car. Are you okay?” he asked, sounding slightly concerned before adding, “Zip up those jeans. If we get pulled over, I don’t want to have to explain why my passenger has his dick out.”
This time, I threw my head back and laughed like a loon. “That would be hilarious. Don’t worry. My dick isn’t out.”
“Zip up your jeans,” he repeated.
“I can’t. They’re too tight. I’ll do it when I get home. Thanks for the ride, by the way. Sorry if I was a jerk earlier,” I said, adjusting myself.