Page 40 of Dreaming of Dawson

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he says.

“Well, you’re not. So… right foot first.”

He thinks about that, and I wonder if he’s working out which foot is the right, and which is the left. Eventually he decides, and raises the one closest to me, putting it down on the step above the one where we’re both standing.

“Can I stop now?” he says, looking down at me.

“No. You’ve got a few more to go yet.”

“Damn.”

He sucks in a breath, the effect of which is to make him wobble backwards, and rather than just holding onto his arm, I raise it and put it around my shoulder. That seems to help a little, so I place my arm around his waist and look up to find he’s staring down at me.

“That’s better,” he says, nodding his head.

He’s more stable now, although I’m not sure which one of us is in control here. There’s still no way I could stop him from falling, so it seems wise to keep going upward.

“Take the next step,” I say.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. You can’t sleep here.”

He studies the stairs for a moment. “You sure about that?”

“Positive. Come on…”

He lets out a sigh and raises his right foot again. This time I’m able to help him more, and we keep the momentum going, taking it one step at a time until we reach the top.

As we go inside his apartment, I quickly turn and flick off the lights, plunging us into darkness.

“What happened?” he says. “Why’s it gone dark?”

“I—I thought it might be too bright for you.”

I also realized how exposed I’d feel, in the glaring electric light, holding onto you in nothing more than my underwear.

I wait a second for my eyes to acclimatize to the darkness, the shadows of the furniture standing out against the moonlight, which I guess is enhanced by the bright snowy landscape outside. I still feel exposed, but he’s probably less capable of noticing… and hopefully more focused on not falling over the furniture.

“This way,” I say, guiding him past the kitchen and around the dining table. He’s gone quiet on me now, so I just steer him down the hall to his bedroom, opening the door. I daren’t switch on the light, but to be honest, I don’t need to. This room is at the front of the building, and as with the living area, it has a balcony and large glass doors leading onto it. They might be shielded by sheer white drapes, but there’s more than enough light in here to see the enormous bed, the head of which is against the left-hand wall.

I help him over, wondering how I’m going to lie him down… or even sit him down, for that matter. His hand is resting on my shoulder, and my arm is still around his waist, and the only option I seem to have is to sit down with him, which I do, right on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to get my breath and look around the room.

It’s much less feminine in here, and although I can’t tell what color everything is, I can see the tones are darker than inthe guest bedroom. The wall at the head of the bed seems to be wood paneled, and in this light, looks almost black.

“We made it,” he says, his voice sounding closer. That makes sense, though, because he’s leaning in to me.

“We did.”

He turns his head, looking right into my eyes, and while this is like a dream come true for me, and part of me would like nothing more than for him to close the gap between us, there’s no way I can let anything happen. Not only is he my boss, but he’s drunk. Very drunk. It’s more than a recipe for disaster. It would ruin everything.

I pull away from him, getting to my feet, and take a step back.

“Are you okay?” I ask, even though it’s clear he isn’t.

He doesn’t answer, but bends down to undo his shoes. It’s a dangerous move, and he almost topples head-first onto the floor.

“Shit,” he mumbles, and I grab him by the shoulders, sitting him up straight again.

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