Page 3 of Don't Fall

I’m struggling to balance keeping Drea on her feet and digging around in my purse when the door opens all on its own.

“You need a hand there?” Scott. Ney. Stupid Scott.

“You’re still here?!” I practically throw Drea at him. He catches her. This time.

“Drea took my keys before she started playing dress up.” He bends down enough to reach his arm under her knees and lift her properly. Her head is already nestled into his shoulder, completely unaware of how much she hates him at the moment.

“You don’t sound drunk,” I point out the obvious.

“I’m not.” He turns toward the living room, likely headed for the couch.

“Then why did Drea take your keys?”

“Because Drea was drunk.”

I’m not finding this chat with sober Scott to be any easier than the one I had with drunk Drea. I should really just retreat now and pretend this whole thing never happened.

But I don’t. Because Drea’s my girl and even if Scott loves her, his standards still far short on occasion where her care is concerned.

“You staying here tonight?” Scott mumbles, eyeing the sofa as if he’s wondering about its availability.

“No,” I scoff, slightly more annoyed than necessary. Just because I want to make sure Drea doesn’t land face first in a pillow where she might choke to death on her own vomit at some point during the night, doesn’t mean I intend to babysit her until morning.

He shrugs and proceeds to place her on the wide cushions. I snatch an afghan from the recliner and hand it to him to cover her.

“Any reason she’s not allowed to sleep in her bed tonight?” I ask, leaning on the armrest.

“You mean outside of her tendency to wake up throwing punches when she’s hung over?”

Forgot about that. “Right.”

Even in the midst of being a pretty straightforward jerk about things, I notice Scott still can’t quite get past how much he loves the crazy, punching drunk girl lying on the sofa. A gentle sweep of his finger over her forehead to move the tangled mess of curls from her face. A subtle tuck around her feet to make sure her bare toes don’t get cold. And lastly, a sweet kiss on her cheek and a quiet murmur of I love you, before he shuffles his feet lazily toward the bedroom still trying his best to portray a demeanor fit for a dude whose high maintenance girlfriend never gets the best of him.

Drea giggles. Because she can. Even half asleep and wasted.

“Isn’t he so cute?”

“Who?” I roll my eyes, knowing this time, she can’t see them. Guess she’s back to being in love with Scott again.

“Hot New Neighbor Guy.” She stretches her arms out above her head, a doofy smile resting on her lips.

“I wouldn’t know.” And I’m not all that interested in finding out. “Meanwhile, he’s been living here for months. How do you still not know his name? I’m thinking it’s not Hot New Neighbor Guy.”

She attempts to make a psh sound but winds up blowing raspberries instead, spitting all over her own face. “You don’t know. It could be.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I stand. This time, I’m really leaving. “I gotta go. If I don’t meet with my pillow sometime in the next ten minutes, no one is going to be safe around me tomorrow.”

“You’re so traumatic.” She goes to swipe a loose strand of hair from her face but winds up just swishing it back and forth from one cheek to the other.

“It’s dramatic, not traumatic. Being friends with you, that’s traumatic. For me. Seriously, Drea. Classes start back up tomorrow. It’s our final year. Don’t you think it might have made a nice impression to start the semester not hung over for a change?”

“It’s just the first week. Nothing ever happens in the first week.” She turns until the side of her face is in the cushions and she smiles. I’m pretty sure she used to sleep with her teddy mushed against her nose like this because she’s got an oddly toddler like expression right now.

“Yeah, I know. The first week doesn’t count. That’s the fourth year in a row I’ve heard that argument.” But she can’t hear me. She’s passed the fuck out.

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HOT NEW NEIGHBOR

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