eyes danced around the space we stood in as if it were an alternate reality. Instead of speaking to me, he swallowed hard and continued to hyperventilate. He was so pale—so sweaty—not his usual attractive self at all.
The last thing I wanted to do was touch him, but he was obviously in distress. I hated myself for the worry that worked itself into my conscience. I shouldn’t care. If anything, I should be happy about his distress, considering. Instead, I reached out and laid my hand on his arm.
He was hot beneath my touch. His muscles bunched and rippled against the pads of my fingers, making them tingle. I hadn’t really touched Chet since that night so many years before, and all it did was remind me of being close to him. It reminded me of feeling him and becoming one with another human being. It was almost too much, but still, I wrapped my hand around his firm forearm trying to calm him.
“Chet?” I repeated.
His eyes darted to my hand, which was resting against his tatted skin, before clashing with mine. He was dazed, without an ounce of clarity in his eyes. Whatever he’d taken, he was obviously having a bad reaction.
Drugs.
It was always something stupid like that when it came to Chet.
Fuck him for making me worry when it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.
“What did you take, Chet?” I sighed in aggravation.
There I was, worrying that something was wrong with him when he was obviously having a bad high. I needed to figure out what he took and get him back to the boys so they could deal with him. He wasn’t my responsibility.
“I didn’t,” he stumbled over his words.
I pushed his arm away when I lifted my hand from his skin. He was starting to annoy me. I’d had a long, stressful night, and because of him, I was losing my buzz. I wanted to go to my room and crash. The last thing I wanted was to be caught up in an empty hallway with him while he crashed from his high.
“Cut the shit, Chet. Just tell me what you took so I can take you back to the guys.”
“I can’t find my room,” he said.
Worry flashed through his eyes, and he swallowed hard.
I shook my head, my aggravation growing.
“Well, you could start by going to the right floor. You boys aren’t even staying on the tenth floor.”
He blinked. “Tenth?” he asked, confused.
Again, his eyes moved from mine and over the doors around us.
“What floor are we on?” he asked.
He was fucking with me. I wasn’t dumb enough to fall for his stupid shit again.
I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t have time for this shit.”
I turned to go back toward my room, but his hand on my arm stopped me.
My body stiffened; his touch repulsed me, yet still managed to send chills up my arm and more memories crashing through my brain. I tugged my arm free from his grasp and practically growled at him.
Something in his expression changed, and he went from drunk, lost, and confused to sad and fearful again.
“Please, Hope,” he whispered. “Please.”
My hands went to my hips, my Converse tapping quickly on the plush carpeting beneath my feet.
“What kind of game is this?” I asked, annoyed. “What are you doing, Chet?”
I didn’t know this game. I wasn’t sure how to play this.
“No game. Please,” he begged, his expression something totally opposite of anything I’d ever seen on his face. His smug, confident self was gone, and instead, there was only a frightened young boy. “Please take me to my room. I’ll never ask you for anything else ever again.”
I swallowed, unsure of what my next move should be. I knew the boys were on the fifteenth floor. I knew about what room Chet was staying in since I’d gone to the room Constance and Tiny were sharing and happened to see Chet come out of the room next door. But did I really want to help this man?
I’d needed him once, and he wasn’t there, but it wasn’t as if I’d gone to him and asked for the help. It wasn’t as if he knew anything. And while
The last thing I wanted to do was touch him, but he was obviously in distress. I hated myself for the worry that worked itself into my conscience. I shouldn’t care. If anything, I should be happy about his distress, considering. Instead, I reached out and laid my hand on his arm.
He was hot beneath my touch. His muscles bunched and rippled against the pads of my fingers, making them tingle. I hadn’t really touched Chet since that night so many years before, and all it did was remind me of being close to him. It reminded me of feeling him and becoming one with another human being. It was almost too much, but still, I wrapped my hand around his firm forearm trying to calm him.
“Chet?” I repeated.
His eyes darted to my hand, which was resting against his tatted skin, before clashing with mine. He was dazed, without an ounce of clarity in his eyes. Whatever he’d taken, he was obviously having a bad reaction.
Drugs.
It was always something stupid like that when it came to Chet.
Fuck him for making me worry when it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.
“What did you take, Chet?” I sighed in aggravation.
There I was, worrying that something was wrong with him when he was obviously having a bad high. I needed to figure out what he took and get him back to the boys so they could deal with him. He wasn’t my responsibility.
“I didn’t,” he stumbled over his words.
I pushed his arm away when I lifted my hand from his skin. He was starting to annoy me. I’d had a long, stressful night, and because of him, I was losing my buzz. I wanted to go to my room and crash. The last thing I wanted was to be caught up in an empty hallway with him while he crashed from his high.
“Cut the shit, Chet. Just tell me what you took so I can take you back to the guys.”
“I can’t find my room,” he said.
Worry flashed through his eyes, and he swallowed hard.
I shook my head, my aggravation growing.
“Well, you could start by going to the right floor. You boys aren’t even staying on the tenth floor.”
He blinked. “Tenth?” he asked, confused.
Again, his eyes moved from mine and over the doors around us.
“What floor are we on?” he asked.
He was fucking with me. I wasn’t dumb enough to fall for his stupid shit again.
I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t have time for this shit.”
I turned to go back toward my room, but his hand on my arm stopped me.
My body stiffened; his touch repulsed me, yet still managed to send chills up my arm and more memories crashing through my brain. I tugged my arm free from his grasp and practically growled at him.
Something in his expression changed, and he went from drunk, lost, and confused to sad and fearful again.
“Please, Hope,” he whispered. “Please.”
My hands went to my hips, my Converse tapping quickly on the plush carpeting beneath my feet.
“What kind of game is this?” I asked, annoyed. “What are you doing, Chet?”
I didn’t know this game. I wasn’t sure how to play this.
“No game. Please,” he begged, his expression something totally opposite of anything I’d ever seen on his face. His smug, confident self was gone, and instead, there was only a frightened young boy. “Please take me to my room. I’ll never ask you for anything else ever again.”
I swallowed, unsure of what my next move should be. I knew the boys were on the fifteenth floor. I knew about what room Chet was staying in since I’d gone to the room Constance and Tiny were sharing and happened to see Chet come out of the room next door. But did I really want to help this man?
I’d needed him once, and he wasn’t there, but it wasn’t as if I’d gone to him and asked for the help. It wasn’t as if he knew anything. And while
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