Page 140 of Wicked Little Darling

He started to writhe so violently that I almost dropped him, so I set him on his feet in front of me, holding onto his arms.

Reese immediately tipped forward and mushed his face into my chest, so I grabbed him on either side of his head and tilted it back so I could see his eyes. “Can you even walk?”

“Pfft. Better than you,” he said. His eyes fluttered shut, then rolled open.

That was when I noticed he was only wearing socks.

“Where are your shoes?”

He wiggled his toes. “Hmm. I dunno.”

I wondered how much worse this night was going to get.

I brushed my thumbs near the corners of his eyes. “Hey. Did you take anything? Did someone give you something? Any pills or tablets? Or did you just drink?”

He scrunched his brows together as if deep in thought, then nodded. “I drank. A lot.”

That was obvious. He could’ve taken something after drinking and not even remember, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fall asleep tonight.

After three days of watching over Val and dealing with constant anxiety, all I’d wanted was for Reese to hold me. Instead, my anxiety had now gone into overtime, and I’d have to watch over him while he slept to make sure he woke up again.

And when he woke up, he’d be getting a fucking earful from me.

And a kiss, but first an earful.

Or maybe a kiss before and after the earful. Yeah.

“Okay. You need to stay awake, just until we get back, okay? Come on, let’s go.”

“Bossy,” he mumbled, letting me slide my hand down his arm and grab onto his. He immediately laced his fingers through mine, and that simple gesture of linking us together so intimately set something in my soul to rights.

I led him out of the house, down the steps, and across the front lawn. When we got to the curb, he started tugging at my hand, trying to make me let go. He got his hand free, and I turned around to find him just standing there, squinting at me, swaying where he stood. He started to fall back, so I grabbed onto the front of the sweatshirt to hold him steady.

“I jus’ remembered I’m mad at you,” he slurred, pointing one long finger at my face. He poked my cheek, then started stroking it, his half-lidded eyes watching his finger as he slid it down to my jaw, then over to my mouth. He trailed it along my bottom lip and paused in the corner. “But how could I be mad at this li’l freckle?”

I couldn’t help it. I nipped at his finger, and he gasped, pulling it back.

“Fuck,” he muttered. His cheeks, already flushed from the alcohol, darkened even more, and he tilted toward me, his eyes glued to my lips. “I wanna kiss your stupid lips.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tamped down the desire to let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Not now. Not when he was drunk and had no idea what he was doing or saying. Right now, he just needed someone to take care of him and make sure he made it home.

I brushed my knuckles across the softness of his cheek, right over his birthmark. “Maybe tomorrow,” I murmured.

“Okay,” he whispered, leaning into my hand.

And then he gasped, his eyes blowing wide like he’d just realized something. And when those green-brown eyes found mine, there was a wealth of hurt in them.

“No! I—I don’t want to go with you,” he cried. “You—you—” He jabbed his finger into my chest, then flattened his hand on me.

Right over my heart.

“I hate you,” he whispered, staring at his hand on my chest. His eyes welled up, and for a moment, he looked completely lucid and so achingly heartbroken that it gutted me.

“Why do you hate me?” I asked softly.

He shook his head. “This isn’t real. None of this is real. You’re not real. I’m not real. It’s all just a—a miserable nightmare.”