Page 13 of Fall onto me

“Hey, drunkie.” Warren laughs.

I chuckle, “It’s Skyler, but yes, Brett is drunk. Do you want me to sneak him in our dorm or can I drop him at your place?”

Warren doesn’t hesitate, “Bring him home, of course. Take him to Mickie D’s first, order a twelve count of nuggies with Sweet n’ Sour sauce. If he doesn’t have them, he’ll be miserable tomorrow.” Warren is a no-nonsense kind of man, nearly politician like, which is why that sounds so funny.

“Nuggies?” I chuckle.

Brett wakes from his stupor. “Nuggggiiiieeeeesss!” he sings.

I call myself his best friend, but I didn’t know this was his hangover remedy. He’s in good hands with Warren.

After pulling through and getting Brett’s nugs, along with some for me to try out this secret anti-hangover remedy, we drop him off at Warren’s. “Promise me,”—Brett takes another bite—“that you will be there for my last game.”

“Of course.” I smile back as we drive up to the front door. “So please quit stressing about it.” Warren is waiting for us, and he helps Brett out of the car.

“I promise,” he agrees with that all-American smile of his; it’s crooked and slouching from the liquor, but still charming.

They’re living in the back of Warren’s mom’s property, staying in the guest house beside the pool, which is three times as big as Foster’s place where eight people live.

“Ryder,” Kate whines. “I want to see Ryder.”

Foster throws his head back. “It’s like babysitting!” he teases.

“Oh, shut up. You were taking us back to your place anyways.”

He leans over to plant a lingering kiss on my neck. “Of course. How could I make sure you eat your nug nugs if you didn’t come home with me?”

“Oh my God.” Kate groans. “You’re both going to make me puke.”

“Not in the car!” me and Foster say together, and then we burst into laughter.

* * *

Walkinginto Foster’s place is like going to class; there are people sitting everywhere. Playing games, beer pong, talking.

Ryder rushes over to grab Kate from us. “You look so fucking good,” he tells her between a kiss.

“I’m,”—she hiccups—“too drunk. No kiss. I taste like tequila.”

He laughs, throwing his arm around her. “Wanna go lay down? I’ll come check on you later.”

She shakes her head, stumbling over to the table. “No, party is still goingggg!”

“Blueeee!” Callum sings, about as drunk as I was earlier. “Come play with us.”

Foster shakes his head with a laugh. “She doesn’t need to drink anything else.” His hands are around my side, and when he squeezes, it ignites a wild feeling inside of me.

“Goodnight, boysss!” I wave, clutching the food in my hands.

“Is it a miracle?” Foster asks when I dip my last chicken nugget into the sauce. I’m sitting on his bed, legs crossed and grinning.

“Not sure, but it’s yummy!”

He smiles, ripping off his shirt. I can’t help but bite my lip. “Nope,” he stops me before I can start. “I’m not going to fuck you while you’re shitfaced.”

I take a sip of coke and set everything on the nightstand to sit on my knees. “There’s no way for you to get me off?” I pout, tilting my head.

He looks me over, wide-eyed. “You’re brave when you’re drunk.” He slides into the bed and lies on his back beside me, muscles elongated as he stretches his arms behind his head.

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