Page 12 of The Last Person (Baker Girls #5)

But the closer we get to the back of the club where the private rooms are, the more my internal hype-talk fades.

I swing open the door of one of the rooms, making sure it’s empty, then lead her inside.

She smiles at me, then does that thing with her eyes that beckons me closer.

What can I say? I’ve been on a historical romance kick.

She leans against the wall next to the door, and I step into her space, pressing one hand flat against the wall by her head and leaning into her.

My lips brush hers, and I feel… absolutely nothing.

I wasn’t expecting some soul-deep emotional connection, but I was expecting some chemistry. Attraction. Something. But there’s nothing. Not a smidge of desire to be found.

I break the kiss and stare down at her.

Clearing my throat, I glance down at my crotch—where my hard-on has completely faded—and say, “Sorry. Maybe I’ve had too much tonight.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I think I had one drink too many, and I might throw up.”

We both laugh lightly.

“Well, if you want to tell your friends we did…” I say.

She shakes her head. “I’ll leave them guessing. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

She leaves the room, shutting the door behind her, and I rest my head against it and groan.

The high of celebrating tonight is gone.

And as I imagine kissing Brian instead of Amber and my boner comes roaring back to life, I have to face the reality that the days of pretending these feelings for Brian aren’t real are gone too.

When I collect myself enough to get back out to the main part of the club, I’m ready to call a car and get the fuck out of here, but then I see Brian at the bar, looking… hammered.

I’m a shitty friend.

Not only am I harboring feelings for him and starting to create some very dirty fantasies about him, I left him here alone. He hates going out, but he did it for me, and I just… left him.

I’m the worst.

I guess the least I can do now is get wrecked with him.

“I’ll have what he’s having. Actually, make it a double. I have some catching up to do.”

Brian’s eyes settle on me, and he arches a brow. “Back already?”

I trill my lips. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

“Seemed like you were feeling it when you left the floor. By it, I mean her ass.”

His voice has an edge to it, but maybe that’s just because he’s past tipsy now. Or because I left him alone.

“Sorry I bailed.”

He shrugs. “’S fine.”

The bartender slides the double shot in front of me, and I knock it against Brian’s glass before downing it.

Oof. Straight tequila.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look at Brian, all hazy-eyed. I wonder if he looks like that when he comes.

Jesus.

Well, I have the answer for Christy. Or answers. Yes, I’d think about him while doing other things. Yes, I like the way that picture looks. And, fuck. What do I do with that? Explore it more internally? Try to get the fuck over it because I don’t see any signs of Brian wanting me that way?

“Another,” I say, sliding the shot glass back across the bar.

I’ll take option three—drinking myself stupid to get my mind off all of it.

I’m not sure my plan worked.

Unless getting my mind off my feelings for Brian meant getting my body on him. Or his body on me.

As the car we called for pulls into the parking garage of our apartment building, more of Brian’s weight rests on me.

I’m not sure if he’s asleep or too drunk to keep himself upright.

If it’s the second… bold of him to assume I’m not just as shitfaced as he is.

When the car stops, he sits upright and looks around.

“Door,” I point.

He mumbles something back and slings it open, then we both tumble out and aim for the private penthouse elevator.

We lean against separate walls as we take the dizzying ride up to our floor, then stumble off the elevator.

I fumble to pull my phone out of my pocket—thank god for electronic locks—and get the door open.

Brian trips over his own feet and almost goes ass over.

“Need me to put you to bed?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.

But he’s still stumbling around and totally misses my suggestive tone.

Not sure if that’s good or bad.

“I’m not five. Just drunk. As a monkey’s uncle.”

“I don’t think… you said that right.”

“Meh.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “C’mon, big guy.”

I nudge him in the direction of his room.

“Told you I’m good,” he slurs.

“Totes. So am I. But we should make sure the other sleeps face down—and has a bucket. Don’t want to puke all over ourselves. Or choke and die.”

He turns back to me with a grimace. “Morbid.”

I knock on his forehead like it’s a door. “Reality.”

He swats at my hand and almost falls over.

“Exhibit one,” I tell him.

He squints at me, then grabs my shirt and drags me down the hall. Mm. I could get used to this.

God, I’m so not straight. I’m a horny little horndog for Brian’s dick. And also horny for his mouth. Like on my mouth.

I look down. Good thing little Hardy is asleep for the night. Otherwise, he’d probably pop in and make things awkward.

“Gotta piss,” Brian says, aiming for his bathroom once we’re in his room.

I think I nod. Or wave. Some kind of gesture of acknowledgment. Then I collapse on the side of the bed I know he never sleeps on and grab the nearby garbage can.

Brian reappears a few minutes later in only his boxers because the universe is a big, fat meanie. He’s not hard, but I can still see the outline of his pantie python. It’s all there and big and hello.

I wonder what it tastes like.

“Why are you licking your lips? No drooling in my bed,” Brian huffs as he falls onto the mattress next to me.

“Not. Gonna.”

“Mhm. Sleep.”

“That.” I slap him on the back. “Night.”

He grunts at me, and I rest my head against the pillow and close my eyes.

I instantly fall into a dreamlike state, and I drift off to sleep lost in my delusional fantasies of what it would be like to kiss Brian.