Western Waves (Compass 3)

Then during one scene, it almost looked like he teared up. Though, he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth before the glassy eyes could stay. I parted my lips to make a comment, but my phone ringing interrupted my thoughts.

I saw Jeff’s name flash across the screen. Damian’s eyes looked over to me, and he grabbed the remote and hit pause on the movie.

Thank you, I mouthed.

He nodded in acknowledgment and went back to his popcorn.

I answered the call and slightly turned my back toward Damian. “Hey, Jeff, what’s going on? Shouldn’t you be starting your—”

“Uh, hi. This is Kate,” a voice said, cutting through the line. “I’m calling on behalf of Jeff.”

I sat straight. “Oh? Who are you? Why do you have his phone?”

“I work at the club that Jeff was supposed to be DJing at. He ended up wasted off his ass before he could even start the gig. It took everything to get him to be able to open his phone for me to call you. Can you come get him?”

“Oh my goodness, yes. Is he okay?”

I noticed Damian sit up a bit straighter out of the corner of my eye.

“Yeah, he’s just drunk. A bit of a dick, too, but you know, alcohol can do that to a person.” Kate gave me the address of the club, and I thanked her before hanging up quickly. I stood to my feet, and Damian stood at the same time as me, with an alarmed expression.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Jeff. He, uh, he got a bit intoxicated and needs a ride home tonight. I have to go pick him up.” I glanced at the television and back to Damian. “I’m sorry we have to stop the movie. You can continue if—”

“I’ll wait for you to return.”

I frowned. “No. It’s fine. You go ahead. It’s not a problem.”

“Stella.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll wait for you,” he gently stated, repeating the same exchange we had earlier when I told him I’d wait for him to begin the film. I swore for a moment he smiled, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. I parted my lips to reply, but he shook his head. “Go.”

So, I went.

Jeff wasn’t a fun drunk. Quite the opposite, honestly. I knew whenever he had a big gig coming up, he’d try to use alcohol to calm his nerves. Unfortunately, he didn’t know his limit and was a professional at surpassing it.

“Jeff, what are you doing?” I asked as I approached Forty-Four nightclub to find my drunk partner sitting on the bench outside of the club with his gear beside him.

He stood and muttered something as he stumbled toward me. “Can you believe these stuck-up assholes? They kicked me out!” he blurted.

There was a line to get into the nightclub, and a pool of embarrassment hit my gut as everyone stared at us. I wrapped my arms around the drunken six-foot-two man who was slouched against me and whispered, “It’s fine. Let’s just get you home. Where are your keys?”

He muttered something unrecognizable.

“Hey, lady, you gotta get him out of here,” the bouncer said with lowered brows and eyes packed with annoyance.

“Suck my dick, asshole,” Jeff shouted as he grabbed his junk through his jeans in the palm of his hand. Mortified didn’t even begin to describe what I was feeling.

“Stop it, Jeff,” I whisper-shouted, pulling him along.

“Hey, baby, you can suck my dick, too, if you want.” He turned my way and bopped my nose. Shockingly, blow jobs were the last thing on my mind. I would’ve much rather been at home watching Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds fictionally fall in love.

I got him into the car after a few more crass comments from him. Then I tossed his equipment into the back of my car. Equipment that looked extremely nicer than what I was used to him having. Which would definitely be a discussion for another day. How had he found the money to buy those turntables?

After shutting the trunk, I climbed into the driver’s seat of the car and looked at my wasted boyfriend swaying back and forth in his seat, completely sozzled. An odd tingle hit my gut as I turned the key in the ignition. “Do you have your house keys, Jeff?” I asked.

“Do you have your house keys, Jeff?” he replied, mocking me.

I knew I couldn’t get him back to his place without said keys, and the more I tried to engage with him, the more annoyed I grew.

“Forget it. You’ll just stay with me tonight,” I declared, but he didn’t seem to mind or even notice my comment. He was too busy untying his shoes and tossing them on my dashboard as he went on and on about some new music artists that I was too uncool to know about—his words, not mine.