Had Max told them that?
Oops.
Before he knew it, Gabe was helping him stumble out the front door and directly into Grady’s arms.
“Whoa, hey. Easy.” A minute later and Max was being gently manhandled into the passenger seat. The door closed with unnecessary volume. Max didn’t remember things being that loud the last time he was drunk.
Grady got in on the other side and produced a plastic salad bowl and another bottle of water. “You want In-N-Out?” he asked, because he was the best boyfriend ever.
Max’s stomach indicated that although In-N-Out sounded fantastic, any attempt to fill it further would put it over capacity and result in Max filling the salad bowl instead. “Pass,” he said weakly.
Then he blinked and looked around. “Hey. How come you’re driving my car?”
“In case you hurl. You have all-weather floormats.”
Max did have rubber floormats, because Gru was the kind of mutt who shed everywhere and loved to splash through puddles, and it was nice to be able to take them out and spray them off with the hose. “You’re so smart.” Then he frowned as Grady reached across him and buckled him in. “And also kind of an asshole.”
Grady snorted and finally came into focus, his stupid handsome face and his beautiful eyes and the soft expression he only got when he was alone with Max. “But I’m your asshole.”
“Yeah,” Max said happily, and then Grady put the car in gear and the happiness stayed put. Moving was bad. “Oh God.”
Grady cracked the window. The fresh air helped a little; Max gulped in heaving breaths of it. “You want me to take the fast route or the slow one?”
God, this was the worst. “Pull over.”
“We’re not even out of the driveway.”
“Now!”
Grady pulled over. Max scrambled to unbuckle, then basically fell out of the Range Rover and fertilized one of Bishop’s ornamental plants.
Fuck, he hated puking. His throat burned with bile, his mouth tasted sour, and itstank. And it always made him break out in a flop sweat.
On the plus side, after a good ninety seconds of heaving, he felt better.
Something cool touched the back of his neck, and he sagged in relief. That feltheavenly. “Okay?” Grady asked gently.
“Ugh.”
“No kidding,” Grady said. “But at least you saved the upholstery. For now.”
Max whimpered but let Grady put him back in the car. He didn’t dare nurse the Gatorade while they were moving, but the bottle felt as good against his forehead as the cold pack did on his neck.
Getting to bed was an embarrassing ordeal. Max didn’t throw up again—yay—but his limbs wouldn’t do what he wanted them to and his head kept spinning. He had theStanley Cup, and that wasawesome, maybe even as awesome as having Grady. But being drunk wasnot awesome. Being drunk was terrible. Max was never drinking again.
He hoped he hadn’t woken up the rest of the house. Jess and his parents had been staying with them for the Cup Final.
Grady helped him take off his clothes, and it wasn’t even sexy. Max’s dick was drunk too, so even if it had been sexy, he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it. Then Grady held him up in a cool shower, which again, felt nice and should have been sexy, but wasn’t.
“I suck,” Max said the third time Grady kept him from falling and braining himself. If Grady ever wanted to have sex with him after this, he should get a medal. Or, like, one billion boyfriend points. That was probably enough to level up. What would that make him? Like, Level Two Boyfriend? “Just let me die.”
“Stop being so dramatic,” Grady said.
Then he rubbed the back of Max’s neck until Max felt less horrifying.
Finally Grady tucked him into the guest bed with a bucket, a sleeve of saltines, and three bottles of water on the dresser. “Our door’s open, so I’ll hear you if you need me.”
“Don’tleave me,” Max blurted. What if Grady was being super nice to him because he was actually mad?
