3. Drew
3
DREW
I trailed behind Patrick as he weaved through the crowded event room, my heart still racing from standing on that stage. God, I’d hated every second of it. The lights, the stares, the auctioneer’s booming voice. But when West started bidding, something inside me had soared.
Could River be right? Did West see me as more than his foster brother and best friend? Or was I completely off track, and he just felt sorry for me? That thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
As we reached a small table tucked between a couple of indoor trees, the awareness that Dr. Patrick McMartin was the son of our biggest benefactors made me a little nervous.
He waved down a passing server and snagged two flutes of champagne, handing one to me. “I’m Patrick, by the way. Figured we should properly introduce ourselves now that we’re going to spend some time together.”
I clinked my glass against his. “Drew. Nice to meet you, Patrick.”
Patrick tilted his head. “It was touch and go out there with the other bidders. One in particular was hell-bent on separating me from my money.”
My face heated when Patrick referenced West. “I’m sorry…I don’t know what that was about. West and I grew up together. Foster brothers.” I took a long sip of champagne, the bubbles tickling my throat. “I don’t know what he was thinking, bidding so much. But we both appreciate your donation. It’ll benefit a lot of the kids we help through the Foundation.”
“I’m happy to help, although I’m sure I’m getting the better end of the deal,” Patrick said softly.
I leaned back in my chair, knowing that my time with Patrick meant more than just his donation, and smiled. “Tell me about yourself. What made you decide to bid on a stranger tonight?”
Patrick’s eyes darted around nervously before he leaned in, lowering his voice. “I…I have a confession to make. While I have my shit together in my professional life, when it comes to dating…not so much. There’s someone I like. Someone really important to me, and I thought if I could impress him with some killer cocktail skills, maybe he’d finally notice me.”
I chuckled at his earnestness. “So you decided to buy a bartender at a charity auction? That’s pretty creative. I’ll give you that.”
Patrick’s cheeks flushed. “God, it sounds so ridiculous when you say it aloud. I’m sorry, this must be weird for you.”
“Hey, no judgment here,” I said, patting his arm. “We’ve all done crazy things for love. Or lust. Or whatever you want to call it.”
“Really?” Patrick perked up. “You don’t think I’m a total loser?”
I grinned, an idea forming. “Not at all. In fact, I think it’s kind of sweet. And you know what? I’m going to help you wow this crush of yours.”
“You are?” The hope in Patrick’s voice was palpable. He was a good guy.
“Absolutely. Tell me more about your friend.”
“He spent last summer in France on a work placement. When he came back, all he talked about was how sophisticated the French are, the amazing food, the wine…” He sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. “I’ve been to Europe, and I’ve seen all those things, but…my adoptive parents are the ones with money. I still remember what it was like to not have any before my biological parents died. My brothers were too little to remember. I guess…I still struggle with belonging in my parents’ world.”
I reached out and put my hand on his. “By the time we’re done with our cocktail lessons, your crush won’t even remember his summer trip to France. He’ll be too busy swooning over your perfect Old Fashioned.”
Patrick laughed, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “I don’t know about that. Oscar’s pretty obsessed with his French adventure.”
“Trust me,” I said, winking. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that’ll make France look like a snooze-fest.”
As Patrick’s eyes widened with excitement, a familiar warmth spread through my chest. This was what I loved about bartending—the chance to connect with people, to be a small part of their stories. And hey, if I could help someone else’s love life while figuring out my own mess with West, all the better.
“Drew, you’re a lifesaver.” Patrick beamed, his entire demeanor transformed. “I can’t wait to get started.”
I chuckled, giving him a playful salute. “Happy to be of service.”
As Patrick’s laughter faded, I noticed the crowd thinning around us. The fundraiser was winding down, and a nagging thought tugged at my mind. West. I needed to find him.
“Listen, Patrick,” I said, glancing around the room. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll be in touch about the class, okay?”
Patrick nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Thanks again, Drew. You’ve really turned my night around.”
With a final smile and a wave, I set off through the dwindling crowd. I scanned the room, searching for that familiar mop of curly brown hair. Where the hell was West?
I weaved between small clusters of people, my mind racing. We had the help of Noah and his brothers, who hired an events company through their PR agency to manage the fundraiser and the event. All West had to do was network with potential donors while I talked about the project and was auctioned off.
Finally, I spotted him at the far end of the bar. My heart did a little flip, then immediately sank. West was hunched over, his usually pristine appearance decidedly rumpled.
As I got closer, I saw Noah standing nearby, concern etched on his face. West raised a glass to his lips with a slightly unsteady hand, and my stomach clenched. Oh, West. What have you done to yourself?
“Hey, guys,” I said, trying to keep my voice light as I approached. “Quite a night, huh?”
Noah’s relief was palpable. “Drew, thank God. I was just about to call you.”
West’s head swiveled toward me, his hazel eyes glassy. “Drew!” he slurred, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “My knight in shining armor. Come to rescue me?”
I swallowed hard, pushing down the complicated mix of emotions his words stirred up. “Something like that,” I said softly before turning to Noah. “I’ve got this. I’ll get him home safe.”
Noah nodded gratefully. “I know you will. Time to go find my own knight in a fitted suit and see if I can have another round on his horse.” I laughed as Noah’s brows furrowed. “That sounded a little weird, right? I meant his dick. I’m riding his dick.”
“I got it the first time. Thanks for the visual,” I said.
As Noah moved away, I gently touched West’s shoulder. “Come on, big guy. Time to call it a night.”
West grumbled something unintelligible but didn’t resist as I carefully pried the glass from his fingers. His skin was warm under my touch, and I loved how perfectly his shoulder fit in my palm.
Focus, Drew. Now is not the time.
“Let’s get you home,” I said. “I think you’ve had enough excitement for one evening.”
As I helped West to his feet, steadying him with an arm around his waist, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was far from over.
Something must be eating at West to drive him to drink like this. He wasn’t even a big drinker. A tiny part of me wondered if he was upset that he lost out on the auction, but the devil on my shoulder told me to stop being deluded.
The drive home was filled with a tense silence, broken only by West’s occasional sighs and the soft hum of the car’s engine. I kept stealing glances at him slumped in the passenger seat, his curly hair a mess and his usually bright hazel eyes unfocused and distant.
“You okay over there, champ?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light despite the worry gnawing at my insides.
West grunted. “Just peachy.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, searching for the right words. “You know, if something’s bothering you?—”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” he snapped, then immediately deflated. “Sorry. I’m just…tired.”
I nodded, not believing him for a second. “Right. Tired. That’s why you decided to go toe-to-toe with Patrick’s wallet and then drown your sorrows in expensive scotch.”
West’s head swiveled toward me, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m worried about you, you idiot,” I said, softening my words with a small smile. “This isn’t like you, West. What’s really going on?”
He turned away again, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing whether to open up or keep his walls firmly in place.
We stopped at a red light, and I studied his profile, illuminated by the harsh glow of a nearby streetlamp. God, he was beautiful, even in this disheveled state. My heart ached with the desire to reach out, to smooth away the furrow in his brow, to pull him close and never let go.
But I couldn’t. Not now, maybe not ever. Whatever this thing was between us, whatever spark of possibility I thought I’d seen in his eyes earlier tonight, it was probably all in my head.
So, instead, I just waited, giving him the space to decide whether he wanted to let me in.
I pulled into my parking spot for our apartment. West stirred, blinking slowly as if coming out of a trance.
“Home sweet home,” I announced, trying to inject some cheer into my voice. “Let’s get you inside, big guy.”
I hurried around to West’s side of the car, opening the door and offering my hand. He stared at it for a moment, his brow furrowed.
“I can walk on my own, Drew,” he grumbled, but his actions betrayed his words as he swayed slightly, gripping the car door for support.
I chuckled. “Sure you can, buddy. But humor me, okay?”
Reluctantly, West allowed me to slip an arm around his waist, leaning into me as we made our way up the path. The warmth of his body pressed against mine sent a shiver down my spine, one I desperately hoped he didn’t notice.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” West muttered as we navigated the hallway. “The fundraiser, the auction…none of it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how was it supposed to go?”
West just shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s all screwed up.”
My heart clenched at the defeat in his voice. This wasn’t the West I knew, the eternal optimist who always saw the silver lining. What had happened tonight to shake him so badly?
“Hey,” I said softly as we reached the front door. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. That’s what we do, remember?”
West’s eyes met mine, a flicker of something passing through them before he looked away. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I guess we do.”
Inside our apartment, we went straight to West's bedroom. I eased him onto his bed, kneeling to untie his shoes. He flopped back with a groan, one arm thrown over his eyes.
“You don’t have to do this, Drew,” he mumbled, making no moves to stop me.
“I know,” I replied, setting his shoes aside. “But I want to.”
I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and held it out. “Drink this. Doctor’s orders.”
West peeked out from under his arm with a faint smirk. “Since when are you a doctor?”
“Since you decided to get wasted at a charity auction,” I quipped, pressing the glass into his hand. “Come on, bottoms up.”
As West sipped the water, I found myself hovering uncertainly. The responsible thing would be to say goodnight and head to my own room. But something in West’s demeanor—the slump of his shoulders, the furrow in his brow—stopped me from leaving him alone.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
West set the empty glass down, avoiding my gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off.”
He removed his clothes until he was just in his underwear. It was something he’d done in front of me hundreds of times before, but now my eyes wouldn’t move from his perfect chest, the two pink buds that begged for my touch, the trail of dark curly hair that disappeared under his boxers…
“Mind if I crash in here tonight? You know, just in case you need anything.” I knew it would be a sleepless night if he said yes because that was the only way I could trust myself to not gravitate toward him.
West’s eyes snapped to mine, surprise evident in his gaze. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to.”
A beat of silence, then West turned and scooted over to make room for me. “Thanks, Drew.”
I went through the bathroom into my room to strip off my suit and put on the pajamas I only wore when it was really cold.
When I returned to his bedroom and slid in next to him, he scooted closer.
My breath caught in my throat, and I willed my dick to stay soft.
Think of gross things. Think of gross things.
As West’s breathing eventually evened out into sleep, I found myself watching the rise and fall of his chest, a familiar warmth blooming in my own. Whatever was bothering him, whatever had gone wrong tonight, I’d be here. Always.