“Hey, little man—”
“Glenn, how many times have I asked you not to call me that.”
“Aw, lighten up. Anyway, come on to bed for a fuckin’ celebration,” Glenn slurred, then burst out laughing, apparently thinking he’d made a good pun.
“You know, Glenn,” Nate said, “I think I’m going to head home. My head feels like it’s in a vise, for some reason.”
Glenn grabbed his arm and more or less dragged him the few steps to the bedroom, then forcefully shoved him onto the bed. Glenn fell on top of him and started biting at his lips and pulling at his clothes. Plenty of times in the past, Nate had been less than thrilled about Glenn’s drunken feels and fucks, but this topped it.
“Get the fuck off me,” he said, and pushed and squirmed until he was able to get out from under Glenn’s greater weight and roll off the bed and onto his feet. He stepped toward the door and didn’t even look back when he said, “I’ll see you when you’re sober.”