Arlo John (boyxboy)

Chapter 18

Luna's Den is packed with people in every booth and table, on the dance floor, and in the lobby waiting to be seated. A band plays toward the back where I find the table reserved for Dakota's welcome party filled with familiar faces. I drag my feet on the way over, wishing I was walking to my bed.

Dakota's back is to me when I arrive and his arm is slung over the back of the chair of the person next to him. As if sensing me, the person turns around and grins widely at me.

"AJ," Turner says. "Miss us already?"

Dakota turns around when he notices Turner does.

"Nope," I say. "I'm here to pick this guy up."

Marcy speaks up from across the table and watches Dakota. "I offered to bring him home, but he insisted he had a ride."

I glare at Dakota and grit my teeth. "Go home with her."

He raises a single finger and moves it back and forth. "No."

"Why don't you stay for a bit?" Turner asks.

"I would, but I'm exhausted," I say. "Let me know when you all go out again."

"Of course," he says.

Looking down at Dakota, I follow his eyes to where the band is playing and recognize them to be Wingspan.

"Hey, it's your favorite band," I say, the words flying out of my mouth.

Dakota raises an eyebrow and smirks. "And how would you know?"

"I'm assuming," I mutter.

He puffs out a laugh and grins. "Cute."

I shoot my eyes around and quickly check if anyone heard our conversation, leaning close to Dakota.

"Shut up," I whisper.

His grin doesn't fade when he answers. "Relax, AJ."

I breathe out. "Let's go."

We say our goodbyes and Dakota slowly rises from the table, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"I can't see shit," he says as we begin to walk toward the door.

"Take your own advice," I say. "And don't get so drunk."

"You shouldn't be talking," he says, his hand falling down to his side.

I hold the door open for him and he walks through, slightly tripping over the floor. I reach out and grab his arm, steadying him.

He looks back at me and smiles again. "Thanks."

We don't speak until we reach my car and I help him in, reaching over to buckle him in before getting in myself.

I turn down the radio as I pull out of the parking lot and he's strangely quiet.

"Are you ever going to tell me what I did when I was drunk?" I ask.

"Figure it out," he says.

"How am I supposed to do that when I don't remember anything?" I ask.

He shrugs.

"Wait," I say. "Does it have something to do with what you said on the phone an hour ago?"

Another shrug.

"Did I kiss you?" I ask, my hands beginning to sweat.

"Almost."

My whole body heats up with embarrassment in an instant. "Almost?"

"I pushed you away," he says. "Because you were so drunk."

"Is that why you've been upset with me?" I ask.

"Would you have tried to kiss anyone at that moment?" he questions, his words coming out quietly. "Or is that just a bad drunk habit of yours?"

I can't come up with an answer to his question because I truly don't know. And when I don't reply, he begins to speak again.

"I'm aware I'm drunk right now and I can honestly tell you there's only one person I'd want to kiss right now," he says. "And it's not just anyone."

I turn onto his street and drive up his driveway. "Marcy?"

He turns his head and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Idiot."

He pushes the handle on the door and opens it, slowly slipping out. I follow him to his front door, making sure he doesn't stumble as he did at Luna's Den.

"Thanks for the ride," he says, pushing his key into the door.

"Y-yeah," I stutter. "I'm sorry I tried to kiss you."

He turns around to face me. "Stay over if you're sorry. Make sure I don't die like I did for you."

"Oh," I say. "Yeah, sure. I can do that."

I silently follow him up to his room and the smell of it brings me right back to when we were dating. He slips off his shirt and throws it to the ground, pulling down his pants right after.

"Stop watching," he says, standing there in his boxers.

"Oh," I say, startled. "Sorry."

I turn away and walk toward the bathroom, grabbing one of the extra toothbrushes from the drawer where he keeps them and get ready for bed. When I return back to his room, Dakota lays in his bed, still wearing just his boxers.

"You can put those on," he says, pointing to a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed.

"Thanks," I mumble. "Don't watch me either."

I hear him laugh and he turns over on his side facing the wall. "Sure."

A few minutes pass and he cranes his neck, peeking at me.

"Are you done yet?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," I say. "Do you have a sleeping bag?"

He pats the space next to him on the bed. "Come here."

I don't have the energy to argue with him and plop down on the bed beside him. "Night."

"I don't want to kiss Marcy," Dakota says, ignoring my comment. I flip over to face him.

"Then who?" I ask, unsure of why I'm curious for his answer.

"You."

My eyes widen at his response and a rush of warmth shoots up my body again.

"Do it then."

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