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I cast a sidelong glance at Adam. “Ditto.”
Dylan just groans and Adam slurs out, “I make no promises.”
Slowly, we guide them out of the party and toward our little three-story hotel. It feels like forever by the time we get there, especially since we had to stop twice to let Dylan puke. I feel bad for Dean, having to practically carry Dylan all the way, but if I let go of Adam, he’ll face-plant into the asphalt, even though he keeps insisting he doesn’t need my help.
Since there’s only three floors, our building doesn’t have an elevator, so we’re forced to help the boys up the stairs. By the second landing, Dean and I are both sweating, and not from the heat.
“Guess we should’ve cut them off. For some stupid reason I didn’t think their drinking would become our problem,” Dean says as he catches his breath. “You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson by now.”
“At least they’ll be too hungover to drink tomorrow, right?”
Or I hope so.
Dylan makes that sound he made before he puked on our walk over, and Dean instantly goes on high alert.
“Come on, let’s get Tweedle-drunk and Tweedle-drunker upstairs before they puke again.”
Although I could get projectile-vomited all over at any minute now, I laugh.
We get up to our floor and I lean Adam against the wall in front of his room while Dean helps Dylan to their shared room.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you with him?”
Dean asks again, like he did on the way over.
Before I can turn him down again, Dylan leans over and empties his stomach contents all over Dean’s shoulder.
“Ugh! You are dead tomorrow,” Dean tells him as he swipes the key card, and Dylan manages a laugh.
“I’m okay,” I tell Dean with a chuckle. “You’ve clearly got it worse than I do. See you tomorrow.”
He’s cut off when Dylan, again, vomits and aims right for Dean, and frankly I’m surprised he still has stuff to puke up.
“Oh come on!”Dean exclaims as they enter the room, and the door swings shut behind them.
I can’t help but giggle since it’s actually pretty funny, especially since Dean’s face is still painted like a pink bunny. I’m sure by the morning, or maybe next week, Dean will think it’s funny too.
“Where’s your key?” I ask Adam, who’s much more coherent than Dylan.
He reaches into his pocket and hands it to me, but when I swipe it, nothing happens.
“Isn’t this your room?” I ask, swiping the key repeatedly.
“I get the spare room tonight. Kellan and Alessio are sharing,” he manages to say, and I sigh.
With my help, we walk a few doors over and the key works on the first try. Not even a second after we’re inside and the door shuts behind us, Adam rushes to the bathroom and hunches over the toilet, resuming his pukefest.
I flinch at the sound of his retching. At least he held it in until we reached a toilet.
As I stand there awkwardly, I’m suddenly hit with nerves.
What do I do now? We’re alone in the room and will continue to be alone since he has the extra room tonight. I guess it’s up to me to make sure he’s okay? I could leave him here, but he’s so helpless, his arm on the toilet seat and his head resting against it.
“Remind me to kill Dylan in the morning,” Adam says as he closes his eyes, still leaning against the toilet.
After grabbing a water bottle from the mini-fridge, I sit on the edge of the bathtub near him.
“You might have to beat Dean to it,” I joke, handing him the bottle. He takes it but makes no move to open it, just setting it down on the floor beside him.
