Chapter 11
Eric
Shrill ringing jolts me out of a restless sleep. I stare unseeing at the pitch-black ceiling, stuck in that weird limbo that comes with abruptly being woken up. The noise sounds again, and it takes a few seconds before I realize it’s my phone.
This late at night, a ringing phone always brings bad news.
“Hello?” I mumble as I answer, trying to clear the roughness from my throat.
Voices ebb and flow in the background as a woman says, “Hi, is this Eric?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter as I throw my legs over the side of the bed, already preparing myself for the inevitable disaster. “What’s happened? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” she drawls, and her obvious annoyance eases the tension in my chest. “Everything’s peachy. Your buddy is over here at my bar, way too wasted to even consider driving and refusing to leave. Can you come get him?”
“Who…” I give my head a small shake to clear the remaining cobwebs. “Who is it?”
“Hey! What’d you say your name was?” A deep, masculine voice rumbles in the background. “Says his name’s Dmitri.”
My mouth falls open in an indignant scoff. “Why would he call me?”
“Listen, buddy, I don’t have the foggiest idea why he’d tell me to call you, but yours is the only number he would give me. He literally said, ‘Call Eric or I’ll fucking sleep here,’ and I fully believe he intends to do just that.”
My eyes fix on my pillow, considering hanging up and going back to sleep. “Can’t you call—”
“Whatever you’re about to ask,“ she interrupts, “the answer is no, I can’t. Come pick him up or don’t. We're closing, and if he doesn’t leave soon, I’ll have no choice but to get the cops involved. I’m not anyone’s babysitter.“
“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” I groan, climbing out of bed to find clothes.
Tempting as it is to let him get tossed into the drunk tank, I can’t do that to him, although I’m not looking too closely into that particular thought right now.
No matter how conflicted my feelings are toward him, I won’t allow him to risk driving and putting himself—or others—in danger. “Where is he?”
She gives me the name and address of the bar, and it's thankfully only a fifteen-minute drive from my apartment. Three minutes later, after a quick piss and a swipe of my toothbrush, I grab my keys and head to my car.
The pink neon lights of the Wild Rose are like a beacon from the empty street, and I park beside the entrance. The bar is strangely silent as I push the door open, and the bell above me jingles softly. There’s no chatter, and the music has been cut off.
Only two people are inside, and one is using the bar top as a pillow.
A blonde woman with broad shoulders and an unimpressed scowl on her face glances up at me. “Are you the guy I spoke to about him?” She gestures to where Dmitri is hunched over, softly snoring into his folded arms.
I give her an exhausted nod. “Yep, that’s me. Is his tab settled?” I don't want to get on her bad side—she’s kind of scary.
She pauses her cleaning to glance in my direction. “Yeah, he wasn’t trying to run out on it or anything. Hell, he was really polite, even as a drunken bastard.”
“Sounds about right,” I grumble as I approach.
“Dmitri,” I say as I nudge him a little harder than necessary, but his only response is a grunt. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up.”
His answering snore could wake the dead.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. Trying not to think about the other times my hands have been in his hair, I weave my fingers through the silky strands and lift his head off his arms. He winces at the lights, and I’m pretty sure there's drool in the corner of his mouth.
The bartender looks incredibly amused.
“G’way,” he mutters as he tries to go back to sleep, but my hold on him doesn’t allow it. An unexpected laugh bubbles out of me as he swats his hand in front of his face, battling some invisible enemy in his intoxicated and half-asleep state.
“Dmitri, it’s Eric. We’ve got to take your drunk ass home.”
His eyes flutter open, bloodshot, unfocused, and almost cross-eyed as they meet mine. “Eric?”
“Yep. Apparently we can add taxi service to my resume now.”
He blinks rapidly, struggling to refocus. “You came for me?”
A loud sigh pushes from my nostrils as I give him a pat on the cheek that lands hard and crackles in the silent space. I’m too rough with him considering his condition, and my joy at flaunting my advantage vanishes as he nuzzles into my palm.
Guilt hits me hard and fast.
He called me for help, and here I am winning a blue ribbon in assholery.
Dmitri is starry-eyed, gazing at me as if I’m his hero, and I clear my throat to work past… whatever this is that’s choking me. “Yeah, I came for you. Let’s leave so this kind lady can close up shop without a snoring Russian giant disturbing her lobby, shall we?”
“Ion’t snore,” he mutters with a frown.
I barely keep my laugh in check as I drag him to his feet. Holy shit, this fucker is heavy.
“Easy, killer,” I mumble as he sways, draping his large body over mine as he struggles to find his footing. “Christ, how much do you weigh?”
“Umm...” Gears grind audibly in his head as he thinks.
“It wasn’t a serious question,” I deadpan.
He dips close to my ear, putting the brunt of his weight on my shoulders. “Two hundred and twenty”—a long pause—“three pounds.”
“Glad we accounted for the extra three,” I respond dryly.
He bursts out laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. My gut flutters at the sound of his happiness, but I ignore it and redirect my attention to the bartender. “Thanks for looking out for him and not tossing him out.”
Her smile is genuine this time, and she nods. “Like I said, he was being polite… just wasted.”
I'm not sure I want to know the answer, but I ask the question anyway. “How much did he drink?”
“Nunya bizzzzness,” Dmitri slurs in my ear, and I swat him away as I glance back at her.
“He was drinking whiskey,” she says. “Since I took over this side of the bar a couple of hours ago? Maybe six shots?”
“Fucking hell," I groan.
The weight of his body is getting heavy fast, so I thank her again and lead him out the door. We move at a snail’s pace, taking small steps to make sure he doesn’t stumble and pull me down with him.
We’d both fall.
And wouldn’t that just be appropriately ironic?
“Give me your keys,” I demand, but he shakes his head in drunken defiance. “For fuck’s sake, Dmitri, I’ve got to make sure your truck is locked.”
I pat his pockets and find his keys, and his grin is far too excited as I reach in for his keyring. I mash the button on his fob, satisfied when I hear the chirp of the locks.
“Now, in you go,” I say as I open my passenger door. He climbs in with some help, then melts into the seat with his eyes closed. I reach over him to click his seatbelt in place, but as I pull back, he grabs my shirt. His tongue darts out over his lips while his face is only inches away from mine.
Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
“Eric,” he whines, trying to draw me to him, but I shake my head and tug out of his grip. After making sure I won’t slam him in the door, I shut it and circle to the driver’s side.
He’s still staring at me when I climb in and crank the engine. “Where do you live?” I ask, refusing to look at him.
“Eric, m’sorry,” he slurs.
I close my eyes as I try to summon patience. “Dmitri, it’s the middle of the night, and I really want to go back to bed. Now please, just tell me your address so I can get you home safely.”
“M’sosorry,” he mumbles, his eyes closed and his body so relaxed that I wonder if he’s drifted back to sleep. I stare for a second, admiring how the moonlight bounces off the planes of his face. He’s serene, missing the stress he usually carries.
Stress that I put there.
“What are you sorry for?” I ask quietly, like I’m unsure if I want him to hear. He doesn’t respond, just takes a deep inhale as his eyes flutter behind his eyelids.
“Damn it,” I groan, scrubbing my face with my hands.
It’s too late for me to call anyone else to find out his address, and I’ll be damned if I’m waiting for him to sober up enough to tell me. If he drank as much as she said he did, he’ll probably still be drunk in the morning. I let out a heavy exhale as I drive toward my apartment.
My hopes of delivering Dmitri to his own house tonight are slaughtered as I listen to him snore softly for the entire trip. After I park, I walk around and open the passenger door, supporting his limp body so he doesn’t faceplant on the asphalt.
“Come on, big guy,” I say as I shake his shoulders.
His eyes open, and the parking lot lighting casts a faint glow, reflecting in the dark pools. He stares at me again. “Where are we?”
I roll my eyes. “The middle of the forest. I’m going to beat you over the head with a shovel and put you underground to rot.”
He nods solemnly before muttering, “Makes sense.”
“Up you go,” I say as I twist his body in the seat. His feet slide out of the SUV, making a soft thud as they touch the ground, and I hoist him to stand. His weight bears down on me, throwing me off balance as he pushes his nose into my hair.
Some people are chatty when they’re drunk, others fight.
This guy?
Apparently, he sniffs.
“You smell like breakfast,” he mutters against my hair.
The fuck? “Like breakfast?”
“Mmm hmm,” he hums with a nod, mussing my hair with his cheek. “Like I’m gonna eat that ass for breakfast.” He throws his head back and laughs so hard he almost takes both of us down.
I grit my teeth and forge ahead, ignoring that part of me that’s suddenly too interested in what he has to say in this unfiltered state.
The stairs ahead of us might as well be Mount Everest, considering the immense effort it will take for me to get him to the top.
Sweat trickles down my back from the warm night air mixed with his stifling heat.
We manage to navigate up the stairs with no mishaps.
When we finally reach my door and make it inside, I’m worn out.