Page 62 of Dedicated
“Wow. Yeah, you really don’t remember shit. Maybe we should just leave it at that.”
“Maybe your ass better fill in the details before I give you a matched set.” It was an empty threat. I could hardly get my jeans up over my thighs without stumbling. My equilibrium was off, and I probably wouldn’t be right for another couple of days the way this hangover was going. “Why the fuck did you try to kiss me?”
He gave me some kind of look, like making him talk was physically causing him pain.
“Dude, I’ve had a hard-on for you forever. ‘Blink, get me this.’ ‘Blink, I need that.’ ‘Blink, my head is on fire and I’m gonna die.’ Why the fuck you think I was so quick on the draw?”
“Umm, ’cause we’re paying your bills?”
Blink snorted. “Not anymore.”
“What’s that me—wait. One thing at a time. Back up.”
He gave me ado-I-have-tolook, but I set my jaw, and even though I was trying to reel back through every interaction with Blink ever—of which there were a lot, because I was almost as close to him as I was Evan—there was nothing, fuckingnothingI could think of that would have ever tipped me off that he was harboring some unrequited crush on me. “I thought you were straight.”
He lifted his palms and waggled his fingers, giving me a miserable half smile. “Surprise.”
“Jesus.”
He shrugged. “I keep it to myself.”
That wasn’t for me to argue with him about. He flopped down on the bed, covering his face with his hands, and spoke between them. “So yeah. I was hammered, too. Not like you, but yeah. I decided it was an opportune time to make my confession. It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.”
“Did I kiss you back?”
“No. You punched me. That’s what I’m saying. Started spouting all this bullshit about how you’re going to be celibate now.”
“Incredibly poor timing on your part.”
“The worst,” he agreed.
I finished buttoning my pants and sat down on the bed next to him. Blink didn’t move, just kept talking through his hands, telling me about the clubs we’d gone to before and after, how I’d apologized later on and we’d ended up having some kind of heart-to-heart about how stupid I was over Evan and whether it could ever work out or not. Because apparently I’d been in the euphoric delusional stage where I thought everything would work out if I could just get Evan on the phone to listen to me.
“I tried to take away your phone, but you would’ve really lost your shit.”
By then, I lay sprawled on the bed next to him. Every detail he recounted just dragged me lower. I didn’t even want to get up off the bed. I wished I could just pull the covers over my head and suffocate myself.
“I’m sorry. That probably sucked for you on so many levels.”
“Yeahhhh.” He inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. “But whatever. It’s done now. Evan called me when I was on my way over, asked me if I’d found you, and when I said yes, he said ‘good’ and that I was fired.”
“What? He can’t fucking do that.”
“Honestly, dude, maybe it’s for the best. This whole situation has turned black, and I can’t keep up with the partying anymore the way I used to. I’m just… I’m tired, man. Tired of it all.” He turned his head to face me and gave me a weak smile.
We lay there in mutually miserable silence for a while, then I pushed myself upright. “Let’s go home.”
I pulled him up after me, ignoring the way my limbs shook and shivered, and we collected the rest of my clothes. I didn’t know what I’d been doing in that hotel room, but the proliferation of empty booze bottles, plastic baggies, and broken furniture suggested I’d thrown myself a righteous pity party. I was amazed I hadn’t woken up with a stranger—or strangers—since that was usually how I soothed a wounded ego, but when I asked Blink, he shook his head quickly and said I’d pushed everyone away unless they wanted to drop something down my throat or give me something to put up my nose. And then I was amazed I’d even woken up at all.
Once we checked out of the Tropicana, I waited in the town car with my head slumped against the window while Blink went into the Bellagio and packed up the rest of my shit. I was worthless, practically immobile. Any movement made my stomach somersault dangerously. The driver had rolled down his window, probably to diffuse the scent of booze permeating the air around me. Blink had Mars handling getting us some plane tickets out of there, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure I could fly, I felt so fucking awful. It was a gorgeous day outside, blue sky, laughter and chatter filtering in through the window. Happy couples and families walking through the portico, down the sidewalks, and I felt like my skin was made of ash and neon, my bones so brittle they would crumble with a breeze.
When Blink got back down to the car, the driver hopped out to load my suitcase into the trunk. Blink slid in next to me, and when the driver glanced over his shoulder to confirm we were heading to the airport, I stopped him with a shake of my head, then turned to Blink.
“Will you get Byron on the phone?”
Blink made the call and handed the phone over to me.
“We need to talk,” Byron said.