Page 3 of The Bro Date
Toby attempts to slip his arm out of my grasp, as if he’s actually about to leave me here and drink more with those assholes. I don’t let go. I’ve witnessed too many people make poor decisions because of alcohol, and I won’t let Toby be one of them.
I usher him out of the bedroom and down the hallway, away from prying eyes.
“Hey!” he yells indignantly.
I pin him against the wall with my larger frame, leaning forward and breathing my words into his ear. “What’s going on with you, Tobes?”
“Nothin’, Shane,” he huffs. “I’m just celebrating being home, okay?”
“Without me?” It’s barely a whisper, and for a second, I’m not even sure his intoxicated brain hears me, but then his smile drops.
His eyebrows furrow, confusion piercing through the haze of alcohol. “You were working,” he says in defense, but he’s never gone to a party without me before.
“Who were those guys?” I ask, an unfamiliar sort of jealousy gnawing uncomfortably at my gut.
“What?” His brows scrunch even further, but I’m not buying it.
“You heard me.”
Toby sighs with resignation. “Just some guys from Sigma Chi. They were teaching me how to play beer pong.”
Since when does Toby hang out with frat boys and play beer pong?
“I’m taking you home,” I say firmly. Ihatenot knowing if he’s safe.
“No,” Toby retorts, his chin lifting in defiance.
I clench my jaw, weighing my options.
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
“You’d have to catch me first!” he shouts with a loud, drunk laugh, darting out of my grasp and running down the stairs.
Motherfucker.
“Toby!” I holler at his retreating back, ignoring the thrum of the party and the nosy people staring.
He doesn’t stop, continuing to weave his way through the crowd in an attempt to get away, but I catch my prey, grabbing his wrist and spinning him around until he bumps into my chest. I stare down at him, scanning his face like I haven’t seen him in a year rather than just a week. His eyes shimmer like molten gold, melting into my soul.
“Are you done now?” I lift an unamused brow, ready for him to volley back some smartass comment.
Toby hiccups, swaying on his feet. “Actually, yeah. Iamdone.” He grimaces, holding his stomach like he might be sick.
I wrap a protective arm around his shoulders, steadying him. “Let’s get you home,” I whisper, my lips accidentally brushing his ear as I lead us to the front door. Toby shivers, and a strange little whimper escapes his lips, but I ignore the odd response, chalking it up to alcohol.
As soon as we step off the porch, an angry gust of wind slams right into us.
“Fucking hell, it’sfreezing!” Toby whines, hugging himself and rubbing his upper arms for warmth.
“It’s sixty-two degrees out,” I deadpan, glancing over and catching the sheepish look on his face.
“It was eighty degrees in Florida this morning!” Toby cries, defending himself. “And it’s windy!”
Shaking my head, I shrug out of my worn jean jacket. It’s at least three sizes too big for him, but I slip it around Toby’s slim shoulders, allowing it to cocoon him.
“Mmm. Warm,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment while we walk down the sidewalk to my truck. “Sure you’re not cold?” he asks, nuzzling deeper into my jacket and taking a subtle sniff.
“I’m fine,” I grunt, helping him into the passenger seat and buckling him in so he doesn’t fall out and bust his drunk ass on the pavement.
