The pink neon lights of the Wild Rose are like a beacon from the empty street, and I park right next to the entrance. As I push the door in, the strange silence of the bar is interrupted by the soft jingle of a small bell above me. There’s no more chatter, and the music has been cut off for the night.

  Only two people are inside, and one is using the bar top as a pillow.

  A blonde woman with broad shoulders and a less-than-happy sneer 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.

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  She nods, continuing to clean up as I approach. “Is his tab settled?” I ask, not wanting to be on her bad side.

  She’s kind of scary.

  Her glance in my direction is surprised. “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 sigh, walking over to him.

  “Dmitri.” I nudge him a little harder than necessary as I try to rouse him, but his only response is a grunt as he stubbornly keeps his head down. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up.”

  His answering snore could awaken 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 that’s drool in the corner of his mouth.

  The bartender looks incredibly amused.

  “G’way,” he mutters, trying to lie back down, but my hold on him doesn’t allow it. An unexpected laugh bubbles out of me as he frantically 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 and unfocused, almost cross-eyed as they meet mine. “Eric?”

  “Yep, apparently we can add taxi service to my resume now.”

  “You…” His throat tightens, and 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 any joy I had expected at flaunting my advantage vanishes as he nuzzles into my touch.

  Guilt hits me, hard and fast.

  He called me for help, and here I am winning a blue ribbon in assholery.

  He’s 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. “Yes, I came for you. Now let’s leave so that 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, and 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...” I can almost hear the gears grinding in his head as he thinks.

  “It wasn’t a serious question.”

  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, and he bursts out laughing like it’s the most hilarious 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.”

  She gives me a smile, genuine this time, and nods. “Like I said, he was being polite. Just wasted.”

  Not sure I want to know the answer, I ask the question anyway. “How much did he drink?”

  “Nunya bizzzzness,” Dmitri slurs in my ear, and I swat him away like a fly as I glance back at her.

  “He was drinking whisky,” she says as my heart pinches. “Since I took over this side of the bar a couple of hours ago? Maybe six shots?”

  “Fucking hell."

  The dead 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 say, but he just shakes his head. The shift from Comedy Central to a Nickelodeon brat was a quick one. “For fuck’s sake, Dmitri, I’ve got to make sure your car is locked.”

  I pat both of his hips and find his keys in his front left pocket. His grin is far too excited as I reach in and grab his keyring. I mash the button on his fob, satisfied when I hear the chirp of the locks.

  “Now, in you go.”

  I open my passenger door and help him settle, reaching over him to click his seatbelt in place. As I pull back, he grabs hold of my shirt, his tongue darting out over his lips while his face is only inches away from mine.

  Why does he have to be so beautiful?

  “Eric,” he whines, trying to draw me to him, but I shake my head and tug myself from his grip. After making sure I won’t slam him in the door, I shut it and walk around to the driver’s side.

  He’s still staring at me when I climb in and crank the engine. “Where do you live?”

  “Eric, m’sorry,” he slurs, and 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 slumped against the car door. He looks 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, the stress that usually inhabits his features noticeably absent.

  Stress that I put there.

  “What are you sorry for?” I ask, quiet like I’m unsure if I want him to hear. He doesn’t respond, just takes a deep inhale as his eyes skitter around behind his eyelids. “Fuck,” 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. Hell, if he drank as much as she said he did, he’ll probably still be drunk in the morning.

  I let out a heavy sigh as I put my car into drive and set off towards 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 to my apartment. After I park, I walk around and carefully open the passenger door, supporting his limp body so he doesn’t faceplant on the asphalt.

  “Come on, big guy.” I shake his shoulders until his eyes open into slivers.

  The parking lot lighting casts a faint glow, reflecting in the dark pools of his eyes as he stares 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, “Makesssssense.”

  “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 repeatedly 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 the stifling heat that rolls off him in waves.

  Through a stroke of luck, we navigate up the stairs with no mishaps, and as we finally reach my door, my body teeters on the brink of exhaustion. I fumble in my pocket for my keys while he sways on his feet.

  By the time we make it inside, I’m worn out.

  “Come on,” I grunt, leading him to the bathroom. “Once I lay you down, I won’t be able to get you back up again. Do what you’ve got to do, because if you pee on my furniture, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “You’re already pissed,” he points out, the words surprisingly clear.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll be even more pissed, and you won’t like that.”

  “No,” he says with a somber, sad shake of his head. “I won’t.”

  With the uninhibited confidence of someone three-sheets-to-the-wind drunk, Dmitri leans his palm against the wall, steadying himself as he drops his pants and underwear. His toned, bare ass is on full display.

  I try not to stare.

  Quite unsuccessfully.

  An endless stream of pee later, he yanks his clothes back up and turns to face me. Suddenly, my tiny bathroom is claustrophobic with both of our large bodies shoved inside. His eyes land on my mouth with such force that the impact knocks my chin back.

  A gulp works my throat as I retreat a step.

  “Come on.” I force my feet to move, turning and walking into the living room, needing to put space between us before something combusts.

  I groan as my eyes land on the mess. My couch is covered with equipment; laptops and keyboards, a random guitar, and at least three notebooks filled with a dizzying mix of song lyrics and notes from my latest troubleshooting sessions. "Shit, give me a minute to clean this off so you can sleep.”

  “No, it’s so late. Go to bed and jussss… throw me a, uh…. uh… what’s it called?” He thinks, hard, for a solid twenty seconds. “A pil-low.” He gives the word two distinct syllables and looks quite pleased at himself for remembering it. A crooked, dopey grin spreads across his face in an instant, flashing me that goddamned dimple.

  There it is, that blinding smile. I avert my eyes before there’s permanent damage.

  “Alright, I’ll get you a pillow and blankets,” I sigh, walking towards my bedroom. Dmitri trails along, pinballing off walls as he clumsily makes his way behind me.

  “Eric,” he rumbles, a husky dip to his voice that speeds my pulse to a sprint.

  “Hmm?”

  “Lookit me.”

  “Nope.” Once we make it to my room, I reach for a pillow, ready to lock him in the living room and leave him to fend for himself.

  Strong hands grip my waist and tug me backwards. “Eric,” he whispers as his fingertips dig into my hipbones, “please look at me.”

  The world blurs as he spins me towards him, throwing both of us off balance with the force of his drunken hands. My pinwheeling arms land on his shoulders and use him as an anchor, finding my footing and keeping us upright.

  For approximately half a second.

  Under my weight, his legs give way, and he crumples to his knees before me in a very familiar stance.

  He curses under his breath, leaning forward and resting his forehead on my hip. My cock bucks in my jeans, and I panic.

  “Get up, Dmitri,” I bark, but he shakes his head, the friction against my skin causing me to thicken to full mast in a rush. “Please,” I beg, tugging at his arms as he deadweights against me.

  His hands move upwards, and at first, I think he’s reaching for me to help him stand. But my momentary relief is cut short as he grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and dropping his mouth to my bare stomach. “Always loved this,” he mutters, dragging his tongue along the slight bulge of my belly that pushes over the waist of my pants.

  “Fuck, stop. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Defiant eyes meet mine as he looks up my body, and my cock surges again at his position. “Do too.” His lips sink back to my stomach, drawing the soft skin between them. “This teeeeeeeny belly. S’always been so fucking sexy.”

  “Dmitri, you’re going to be really embarrassed in the morning if you keep calling my gut sexy. Stop.”

  He doesn’t.

  He thumps his pointer finger against his head, still with that goofy grin. “I won’t be embarrassed if I can’t remember.” My brows furrow, but then he dips his fingers beneath my waistband, and rational thought dissolves. His mouth drops kisses across my stomach as goosebumps erupt on my skin, but I grit my teeth as I step back.

  “No more.” My palms land on his cheeks, forcing him to look up at me. “You’re drunk.”

  “And you’re hard,” he counters with a salacious smile. Wrapping his arms around the backs of my legs, he jerks me forward until my cock is pressing against his cheek. My breath is coming in wild, jagged pants as he rubs his face against it and then looks up at me, all sexy smiles and promising eyes. “Want me to help you with that?”

  “No.” My voice is low and growly with the command.

  He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout that shouldn’t be so goddamned adorable. “You don’t want me?” I grip his elbows and put all my strength into hoisting him to standing, and he immediately bows his head and leans in to kiss me.

  This test of willpower will be the fucking death of me.

  My hands land on his chest and I tilt my head back, so his lips find my neck instead. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, moaning quietly as he kisses his way up the column of my throat.

  “Dmitri, please stop,” I whisper, my self-control eroding the longer he’s touching me. “You’re drunk and I won’t take advantage of you.”

  At last, my words make an impact, and he slumps against me, my arms circling him to keep him from collapsing.

  Wrong move on my part. Apparently, he thinks this is fucking hug time, because he throws his arms around me and squeezes me to him. He straight up cuddles into me, burying himself against me as I stand rigid, not knowing what to do with my hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair.

  “It’s fine, you’re drunk—”

  “No, not this. I’m sorry for… for before.” My body freezes against him, but his hands are still gliding across my back and his lips slurring a long apology in my ear. “I’m sorry for not knowing what I did, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. Dante says… he says I broke your heart, but that’s not right. That can’t be right, because you shut me out.”

  He pulls back and stares at me with hazy eyes that scream his every unfiltered thought, forcing me to hear the pain in them. They bellow into the night, too loud, too fucking candid for this cramped apartment, and he couldn’t stop them if he tried. “But you… you broke my heart, do you know that? Ripped it right into pieces when you left.”

  Pain like I haven’t felt in years slices through my chest, getting stronger with every word from his lips. “Dmitri—”

  “It killed me,” he cries, a single tear scorching his cheek. “Fucking killed me, Eric.”

  Emotion clogs my throat and I slide my hand over his mouth, trying to make him stop.

  I need him to stop.

  “Dmitri, please!”

  “Just tell me!” he shouts around my fingers. “Tell me what I did!” The sound he lets out is somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, and it breaks my resolve.

  “Not while you’re in this condition.”

  “Then when, Eric?” His heavy head drops to my shoulder, hugging me to him once again.

  With a golf ball-sized lump in my throat, I take a deep breath and decide that it’s time to confront the conversation I’ve been avoiding for seven long, lonely years. “In the morning, when you’re sober. We’ll talk.”

  He rips his head off my shoulder and grabs my cheeks, putting his face flush against mine, eyes glassy and skin streaked as he stares at me. “Promise?”

  I nod, mesmerized by the crystal teardrops clinging to his thick lashes, sparkling like tiny diamonds up close. “Yes, I promise.”

  Without warning, he plants a wet kiss right on my lips and then drops onto my bed, shoes and all. I watch in disbelief as he curls up on his side, my mouth hanging open in a mix of astonishment and mild outrage.

  His soft snores resume, and I remain slack-jawed as I stare. Unable to contain my indignation any longer, I let out a choked laugh, then sigh as I remove his shoes and tuck him under a blanket.

  Indecision wars as my eyelids droop in exhausted protest, but I finally give in to my fatigue. I change into a pair of shorts and circle to the other side of the king-sized bed.

  As I curl under the covers, I take care to avoid any physical contact with his body. Despite the night’s chaos, the soothing sound of his soft, rhythmic breathing calms me, and within minutes I’m pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  11

  “Oh, what the fuck,” I mutter under my breath as my head pounds, temples splitting with an ache so potent they might crack right open and let my brain spill out onto my pillow.

  Honestly, that might be an improvement.

  Why did I agree to go out with them last night?

  Why did I drink whiskey?

  I push my face into the pillow, and I’m met with a nose full of smells that don’t belong to me. Body wash and detergent that are familiar, but not mine. Every vertebra in my spine protests as I roll to my back, my arm knocking into something solid and warm.

  Something that grunts.

  My eyes fly open and the burning rays of sunshine sear a fresh wave of pain through my head, forcing me to squeeze them shut once more to shield myself from the onslaught.

  It occurs to me I might actually be dead. Don’t walk towards the light.

  I try again, opening slower this time. The unfamiliar room comes in to focus as I blink hard, so dehydrated I’m worried my eyeballs might shrivel to dust.