Page 123 of Stolen Hearts
“Did I tell you about the time I opened Christopher’s hotel room door, when he was over for his sister’s wedding, and Alexander Morgan was standing there?”
Stephen reaches for the tequila shot and knocks it back in one.
Salt and lime be damned.
“No.”
Ryan’s eyes widen and lock with mine. He’s never been one for gossip, but he finally bites into Stephen’s need to discuss this.
I can feel my blood boil. I fidget uncomfortably in my seat.
“So, who’s the top in your relationship then?” I ask, ready to shift the discomfort from me onto them.
Ryan and Stephen share an awkward glance. Stephen has avoided the question any time I’ve asked it on the phone, but now that I’m here, there’s no chance for him to escape.
Stephen, lost for words, grabs my tequila shot and downs it as Ryan goes to speak.
If only that happened more often—Stephen being speechless.
“We’re sides.”
“Sides?”
The confusion must be written across my face as they both share another awkward look. Stephen loves to ride a cock, like a cowboy on a bucking broncho. And Ryan was always the bottom in our relationship.
“You know, we do everything but fuck,” Stephen says in a patronizing tone as he grabs his vodka Diet Coke.
“I know what a side is. I wasn’t born yesterday,” I snap back. “It’s just I’d never had either of you two down as a side.”
Ryan knocks back his tequila shot and finishes his vodka soda as the barman rings the bell for last orders.
“Right, let’s go,” he says, getting up.
I guess that’s the end of that conversation then.
Stephen stumbles as he stands, sending the chair flying backward into the table behind him. He barely manages to save himself from flying with it when Ryan grabs his arm.
Oh lord.
Both Ryan and I shake our heads in unison.
What happened to him? He used to be so good at handling his liquor.
The long walk to get Stephen home is marked by frequent stops, allowing him to puke up the alcohol, along with the kebab he insisted on getting when we left the pub.
The last stretch proves to be too much and he collapses on the curb outside his apartment, puking all over himself. His kebab rests next to him.
“Come on,” I say.
I attempt to lift him up, but fail miserably. He’s deadweight.
Ryan looks back in disgust and crosses the road to Stephen’s apartment, opening the door.
“Stephen, get up,” I say, yanking his arm and almost dragging him across the sidewalk.
Why the fuck do I have to be so kind? Why am I out here helping him out when Ryan is the one responsible for Stephen? I should’ve been back at Kelly’s over an hour ago now. The thought of the blow-up mattress is a lot more desirable now than it was earlier today.
Once we get into the apartment, I pass Stephen to Ryan, telling him to take him to his bedroom while I try and locate a bucket. I head into the kitchen, trying to be quiet so as not to wake Stephen’s housemates.
