Page 7 of Don't Think

“What’s with you having a key?” he mutters into his glass, then takes a slow drink.

I can’t help but laugh at the jab, but I quickly wipe the smirk off my face before Donny boy sees and pops a blood vessel.

Gareth’s always been the one to just say whatever’s on his mind. Which is exactly why every time James or I saw his ass sitting in the headteacher’s office, we never had to question why. It was always for some shit he said to purposely piss someone off.

I guess old habits die hard.

The sound of a jacket zipper echoes behind me, followed by the unmistakable jangle of keys. When I glance over, James is already heading for the door, yanking on his hood like a pissed off teenager.

“Where are you going?” I ask, my eyes following him.

He stops, turning slightly to look over his shoulder. “To get the beer,” he says with a shrug, then pulls it open.

“Hey,” Don calls out. “Don’t overdo it.”

James rolls his eyes, muttering, “Yes, Dad,” before letting the door slam shut behind him.

Now it’s just Don, Gareth, and me standing awkwardly in the cramped kitchen. Which pulls a question to the front of my mind.

“Where the hell is Casey?” I ask, glancing around the room until my eyes land on a still figure under a thick blanket on the sofa.

I lift a finger, pointing at the lump and turn back to Gareth with a raised brow. “He okay?”

Gareth chuckles before tiptoeing over, and kneels beside the bald, grizzly man sprawled beneath the covers.

With one swift motion, he yanks them off him and drops the blanket to the floor.

“Babysitter’s here. Time to wake up,” Gareth announces loudly.

“Aye, it’s not my fault you fucks were loud all night,” he says with the thickest accent out of the three of us.

Sometimes even I don’t know what the hell he’s saying.

The hotel door swings back open, and James bolts inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. He walks quickly to the island, dropping two twelve packs on it as the bottles clank together loudly.

“What’s he skipping around about?” Casey asks, leaning off the sofa to watch James through barely open lids.

When he finishes unloading, he walks into the room with his arms crossed at his chest, smacking his lips annoyingly. “You guys willneverguess what happened.”

“Don’t tell me you ran down Main Street screaming ‘The British are coming,’ again,” Gareth half jokes, giving him a pointed look.

“Oh, come on! That was funny,” James defends.

That’s just one example of why the guys don’t get why we already need a manager. Don’s got his hands full with James as it is. We haven’t even been here a full week, and he’s already proving that every day.

Then I’m left confused again. He was gone for… not even five minutes. I know we’re in the city, but how the hell did he get that much alcohol that fast?

“James,” I call. Mid-laugh, he glances over and juts his chin toward me. I shake my head, grinning. “Where did you even get all that?”

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “There’s a whole ass store downstairs. You’d know if this wasn’t the first day you actually left the ho—”

Gareth quickly elbows him in the ribs. “Shut it,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

Well… there goes my good mood. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone brought it up.

I press my lips together. “No, it’s okay. He’s right. I’m just…” I glance down, trying not to let the familiar pang drag me under, but it’s clearly a losing battle. “Still not used to the idea of her being gone.”

James’s expression shifts, and his shoulders slump. He walks over until he’s beside me, nudging my shoulder a few times. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to...” He pauses and awkwardly runs his hand through his hair. “She’d be proud of you. You know that, right?”