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Sparkly Sweater was definitely too short in the arms, but it did the job. Also, I’d never seen him in anything that wasn’t high quality and curated—yes, including his casual pajamas look at the mixer—so the overall effect was a little ridiculous.

He started on his fly button with sloppy fingers, and, to my intense relief, managed to figure it out and pull his pants off without the need for my assistance, leaving him in Sparkly Sweater and boxer briefs. “Ow,” he said dully, flexing his right hand. I noticed for the first time it was red and puffy.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Mmph mmm.”

Oh, that cleared things up.

By this point he was out of breath at the sheer enormity of the tasks given to him, and he wilted while Ainsley came in with some blankets and pillows for a makeshift bed. Brougham allowed us to help him onto the couch, and, a few layers of blankets later, he was safely cocooned.

Then Brougham rolled over to lie all but unconscious on his back. Ainsley shook her head at this and grabbed some of the throw cushions from the armchairs.

“What are you doing?” I asked as she wedged them inbetween Brougham and the couch, pulling Brougham onto his side.

She directed her reply at Brougham, not me. “You’re not to sleep on your back tonight,” she said, slowly and clearly. “Stay on your side. The bucket’s going to be here. Okay?”

Brougham made a noise of acknowledgment, but didn’t open his eyes.

Ainsley looked back at me now. “If he’s on his side he can’t choke on his vomit. Better safe than sorry.”

“Jeez, since when are you an expert on treating drunks?” I asked in surprise.

“College has changed me. I’veseen things,Darcy.”

“Damn. Respect.”

Given that it was now close to two in the morning, Ainsley, understandably, headed off to bed. And suddenly, it was just me. Me, and a very drunk guy who might or might not be my friend. It was hard to say at this point.

To be fair, thatdiddescribe most people in my life now, though, so.

Sighing, I sat on the floor in front of the sofa. I should probably have been asleep by now, but adrenaline had woken me right up. Besides, I wanted to stick around for a little while, just in case.

Brougham was fast asleep already, his cheek smushed against one hand. He was breathing steadily. That was good, right? Nothing to worry about.

I stuck one headphone earbud in, keeping the other ear free to listen out for any changes, and pulled a movie up on my phone.

About halfway in, just as I was starting to feel sleepy, Brougham stirred.

Through the dark, I could just make out his large,soulful eyes. Those intense, beautiful eyes. Boring into me. He blinked slowly, long, thick lashes brushing against the tops of his cheekbones. “Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you come for me?”

“Because you needed me.”

He kept staring at me with wide eyes, his mouth working. All I wanted to do in that moment, what everything in me wasscreamingat me to do, was lean in and embrace him. To stroke his hair and promise him I’d always be there if he needed me. To run the tip of my finger along the curve of his neck down to his shoulder, and assure him there was nothing he could do that would make me abandon him.

But I couldn’t promise that, because I’d already left him once.

And the price I had to pay for that was knowing I couldn’t do any of those things. I could never touch him like that again.

I could never kiss him again.

And before long, I wouldn’t be able to remember what he tasted like. And then it would be like none of this had ever really happened at all.

And, worst of all, was the way he was looking at me, with his mouth slightly open, and his chin leaning forward, and his breathing thick. He looked like he wanted to be kissed. In that moment, in the dark, in the quiet, I felt that if I’d leaned in, he maybe would’ve closed the rest of the gap between us. He maybe would’ve pulled me hard against him, kissing me the way I hadn’t let him kiss me the first time.