Page 8 of Primal God

I’ll hurry.

Nearly an hour later, João comes out, smiling. It takes everything in my power not to say something shitty. Yet again, our definition of ‘hurry’ is very different.

“Babe, let’s go.”

I blink, realizing he’s already in his car. I grab my bag and try to get my emotions under control as I walk. When I look back at the house, I meet Dr. Santos’ gaze from the living room window. Again, heat licks my skin. I glare at him before getting into João’s car.

It’s late when we get back to João’s house, and I park in front of the house. I don’t see his garage opener, and I don’t want to accidentally block someone in by parking in the wrong spot. Grabbing the key fob, I get out of the car and then go to João’s side to help him out.

There aren’t any lights on in the house as I help João walk up the sidewalk.

“Do you have your house key?”

“Sure do, babe,” he slurs, reaching into his pocket.

But he only pulls out his wallet and phone.

“Here, let me help.”

João lets out a small groan as I dig around each pocket. Crap. No keys.

“Do you know the code for the garage?”

He mumbles something at the same time as he leans heavily against my shoulder.

Did he…did he just pass out?

A soft snort leaves his lips. Great. Just great.

“João, wake up.”

He mumbles again but doesn’t open his eyes.

I look at the door, trying to decide what I should do. If I ring the doorbell, it might wake the twins.

“João, let me see your phone.”

A soft snore leaves his lips, fanning the hair by my ear. Reaching into his pocket, I pull out his phone. Thankfully, I know his passcode. Bracing him with one arm, I use my other hand to unlock his phone.

I’m not sure if I should text Dr. Santos or Mrs. Santos, but the choice is made for me when his phone dings.

Dad

Was that your car I heard pulling up? If so, you’re late.

Hi, Dr. Santos. This is Lili. I’m on the porch with João and he can’t find his keys. Can you let us in, please?

Dr. Santos doesn’t respond. Crap. I hope he didn’t go back to bed or something.

A moment later, the porch light turns on and the front door opens. Dr. Santos stands there in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that clings to his muscular chest. I swallow loudly, becausedamn.

“João? What are you doing?”

João doesn’t answer, leaning even more against me.

“I think he passed out,” I say.

“I can see that.”

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