Page 33 of Not My Finest Hour

“Wesley, Justin is here to help you up. Are you able to stand?” I ask.

Wesley nods and says, “Everything is blurry.”

That could be because he’s drunk or because I still have his glasses, but I’m not about to give them to him just to have him rip them off his face again. “We’ll support you the whole way,” I say.

Justin steps forward and helps Wesley to his feet. The two stumble toward Justin’s car with Justin supporting most of Wesley’s weight.

“I’m sorry again for asking you to come out here,” I say.

“Don’t be. This is hilarious and much better than anything I had going on,” he says.

When we reach Justin’s car, I open the backdoor because it seems safer to have Wesley in the back where he can’t push any buttons. It takes a lot of convincing on our part to get him into the backseat because Wesley now thinks that Justin and I are aliens taking him away to harvest his organs.

“Thank God we’re staying on this island tonight. If getting him in the car was this difficult, imagine taking the ferry with him,” I say as I get into the passenger seat.

“He’s so out of it, he might try to jump ship.”

“I’ve got directions taking us to the nearest hotel. I’ll go in and book the room while you keep an eye on him.”

“What if they want to see an ID since you’re using Wesley’s card?” Justin asks. It’s a valid question and one I hadn’t thought of.

“Then I guess you’ll have to come in and pretend to be Wesley. And if it goes any further than that, then we’ll have to drag his drunk ass inside so they can see that we’re not trying to use a stolen credit card.”

“I guess we don’t have any other choice,” Justin says with a shrug.

When we get to the hotel, it ends up being a motel where each room has its own outside entrance. It’s not the type of place I’d normally stay at, but for our needs tonight, it works out better. We can park near our room so Justin and I don’t have to try to maneuver Wesley through a hotel lobby.

Thankfully, the guy in the lobby is young and more concerned with what he’s watching on his phone. He doesn’t even take one look at my credit card. I just tap the card for the room, he hands me a keycard, and I’m on my way.

Our room is nothing special. It’s a ground-floor unit with the usual furnishings: two queen-sized beds, nightstands, a small dining table with a couple of chairs, a TV, and a microwave. I stand in the doorway, holding the door open while Justin helps Wesley out of the car and into the room. Wesley flops down on the bed as soon as he enters and starts wrapping the sheets around his body like a burrito.

“Do you think I should take his shoes off for him?” I ask Justin.

“I think you should move him as little as possible,” he replies.

Justin and I stand there and watch Wesley’s eyelids get heavier and heavier, until finally he’s out. Something tells me that we won’t hear anything out of him until morning.

“Did you get anything to eat?” Justin asks me. “I think I saw a fast-food place across the street. It might still be open.”

My stomach growls at the thought of having a greasy burger and fries. “I’d love some food. Technically I ate, but I don’t know that what I had could be considered food.”

“Do you have any requests or should I surprise you?”

My lips turn up in a smile. “Surprise me.”

While I wait for him to return, I send Fern a text telling her that I’m okay, and that I’ll be home in the morning and will explain everything to her then. I also send my friends a couple of apology texts and vow to make it up to them later.

Justin returns carrying two bags. One bag is obviously our food, but the other one I can’t discern because it’s nothing but a brown paper bag. He sets the bags down on the table and spreads out two identical meals.

“I got us burgers and fries, and then I couldn’t skip dessert, so I got us each an apple pie.”

“This is amazing. Thank you so much,” I say.

“I also thought we could use a few toiletries to get us through the night, so I went to the carryout store next door and picked up toothbrushes and toothpaste.”

The gesture is so sweet, I can’t stop myself from rising to the balls of my feet to give him a kiss on the cheek. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place, and his gaze locks onto mine. It’s been so long since the two of us kissed, and if he leans in right now, I’m not going to pull away.

“If you have any feelings for Wesley, I need to know. I don’t want to come between you two,” he says.

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