18. James
JAMES
The Jeep idled in the driveway, its headlights illuminating a curtain of rain. In my hand, I held a long-ago-packed, still-unsmoked bowl. On the porch railing sat the bourbon and the two tumblers I’d brought out for Will’s return, which was supposed to be hours ago.
The passenger door opened, and Will fell out—literally.
“I’m okay,” he said, springing back up like a stubborn cowlick. “Don’t get out.”
I flipped on the porch light and watched him stagger up the stone path. He looked like a drowned rat: clothes soaked, knees caked in mud, black hair plastered against his forehead.
“Who dropped you off?” I asked, watching the red brake lights disappear down the driveway.
“Derek.” Will paused on the top step, gripping the railing for support, his body swaying like a spoon in a saucepan.
My stomach tightened. “That was nice of him. Have you two patched things up?”
Will didn’t answer. He was too busy staring, slack-jawed. He let go of the railing and stumbled forward, crashing into me like a battering ram. “What have you done?”
I took a step back to keep us both from falling over.
“Can I touch it?” he asked. Before I could answer, his wet fingers stumbled across my upper lip and my now hairless jaw. “This is the best mustache I’ve ever seen. You look like a porn star.”
Theo had said the same thing three hours ago—minus the gobsmacked grin. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it. I can’t believe you did this for me. No one is going to believe you’re my boyfriend now, though. You’re way too hot.”
Smiling, I lowered him onto the bench, afraid he might face-plant at any moment. “It’s just hair, dude.”
“It’s more than that.” Even with his ass planted firmly on the bench, he swayed like a top-heavy sunflower, forcing me to sit next to him like a human plant stake.
“Is that marijuana?” Will’s face dropped as he examined the bowl in my hand, and I had to push him back by the shoulders to keep him from toppling off the bench.
“It is. Want some?”
“Yes, please.”
“Are you sure you can handle it? It’s not always a good idea to mix, and you’re pretty drunk.”
“I haven’t smoked weed in years.”
Against my better judgment, I passed him the bowl and lighter. “There’s a carb on the side, FYI.”
“A what?”
“A carb.” I pointed to the hole on the side of the bowl. “You’ve gotta plug it, or it won’t light. Then release it when you inhale. It’s like a vent on a gas can.”
“Oh, well, if it’s like a vent on a gas can.” Will’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but he really was fine. He lit the bowl, took a hit, and immediately coughed out a billowing cloud of smoke. “It burns. Make it stop.”
I handed him my can of Pbr, and he drank the whole damn thing like some meathead frat boy.
“That’s disgusting. You drink that shit?” Will pounded out a burp.
“Can I have my bowl back, please?” I snatched it out of his hand.
“I need to lie down.” Will lifted his feet onto the bench and rested his head in my lap.
Well, all right then. His cold, wet hair immediately soaked through the fabric of my pants and sent a shiver up my leg. “As cozy as this is, don’t you think you might be happier in your bed?”
He didn’t answer because he was asleep.
A lock of his thick black hair fell over his eyes, and I gently tucked it behind his ear. He sighed softly at my touch, and I repeated the motion with the solitary freckle on his cheek, as if I could brush it away.
Before I could do the same with his average, slightly heart-shaped lips, I withdrew. What the fuck is wrong with me? Then another thought struck me. I’m going to have to put the little shit to bed, aren’t I?