Chapter 32

He started to pour Andy’s coffee, then thought better of it. As sore as Scooter was, Andy was probably dying. He wasn’t used to Memorial Day and he’d been rather tipsy and falling asleep on his feet towardthe end of the party. Scooter had nearly carried him across the walkway to his apartment. Andy had been clingy and handsy as Scooter had helped peel him out of his sweat-stained tee and take off his shoes and socks.

Scooter winced as he remembered how long he had hesitated, hands over Andy’s belt, before tipping Andygently into the bed.

Fuck. Scooter had been too drunk and Andy had been too tired for them to do anything. And it would have been wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Still, Scooter had spent more time than was probably healthy or sane just watching Andy sleep, one arm thrown over his head, the other tucked against his chest.