Chapter 11

Audrey’s P.O.V

I groan as I drag myself toward the door, already knowing who it is. I swing it open, ready to bark at him—but Drew barely manages a drunken smirk before his knees buckle and he lands flat on his ass.

“Shit, you’re wasted. What the hell?” I mutter, staring down at him.

“I... I think I’m a lil’ tipsay,” he slurs.

“No kidding,” I sigh, crouching down. “Come on, you big idiot.”

I slide an arm under his shoulder and he latches onto me, his weight almost dragging us both down. His forehead drops against my neck for a second—hot breath fanning over my collarbone—and I pause. My skin prickles. This is a terrible idea. A really terrible idea.

But I help him inside anyway.

He collapses onto the couch, limbs heavy and loose, head falling back against the cushion with a low groan.

“I needed an escape. It was either a drink or a friend. I had the drink... now I came to you.”

My heart squeezes a little. He looks like a lost boy—just like the old days.

“Spill it then. I’ve dealt with drunk-you before.”

He lets out a breathy “Yeah” and closes his eyes. “You se—sent me boobs pic when I was drunk,” he snorts. “I remember that.”

Oh God. He remembers that. In a drunk stupor and he has to remember exactly that.

“That only happened once. And I didn’t just send it—you begged for it, remember?”

“But you still did. You coulda said no.”

“I did it because the guys were clowning you for being a virgin. I was trying to help your sorry ass!”

“Yeah... black and red plaid bra. Jerked off to that. Several times.”

“Oh my—STOP. Just stop. I don’t wanna know.” I grab a cigarette and light it furiously and embarrassed at the same time.

He watches me, glassy-eyed.

“The things you do to me…” his voice comes in a raw, raspy confession.

And just like that, my blood turns to fire.

“That’s enough, Drew. I’m throwing you out.” I threaten, trying to keep myself composed.

I’m about to grab a glass of water—anything to pretend this isn’t a moment—but he opens his eyes and reaches for me.

In one clumsy move, he tightens his hand around my wrist and tugs me downward. I stumble, losing balance, and end up sprawled on top of him.

Chest to chest. Breath to breath.

My hands press into his bare skin—hot, inked, and still damp with sweat. His hands are suddenly everywhere. One sliding low to cup the back of my thigh, the other still curled possessively around my wrist, drawing me closer into the solid line of him. I feel the sharp inhale he takes as I shift slightly—trying not to notice what exactly I’m straddling.

I do notice.

His hips roll once, slow and unconscious, and a choked sound escapes my throat before I can stop it.

“I want to fuck you so badly right now...” he confesses in a whisper, voice wrecked and raw, like a confession dragged out of his soul.

I freeze. Every part of me clenches.

“Don’t, Andrew!” I bark, trying to scramble off him, but his grip tightens.

He doesn't let me go.

Instead, he lifts his head—those hooded eyes boring into mine—and leans in, his lips barely grazing my jaw, then lower... heat spreading like fire beneath my skin. My heart thuds dangerously.

He reaches for the cigarette still in my fingers, takes a long drag, then exhales slow, hot smoke into my face.

“I’m just coming clean, baby,” he murmurs, voice sinful. “Can’t you at least appreciate the honesty?”

“You... Ughhh!” I groan, furious with him—and myself—for letting it get this far.

“I want to kiss you. Do you want me to kiss you, Audrey?” he dares, voice nothing but gravel and temptation, like an invitation in the dark.

I should say no. I need to say no.

“That’s the problem, Drew. I d—”

But I don’t get to finish.

His lips crash onto mine—desperate, bruising, greedy. His tongue parts my mouth like he owns it. Like he always has. The kiss is chaos and hunger and unspoken years of what if. His hand slides up the back of my thigh, fingers curling into the hem of my shorts, squeezing, pulling me flush against the hard line of his arousal.

I moan. God, I moan.

He groans in return, biting my bottom lip, shifting to deepen the kiss, to devour it. He drags his mouth to my neck, to the curve beneath my ear, breathing hard as if he’s been holding this in for years.

But I know where this leads.

And it’s not the right time. Not like this. Not with him drunk and not thinking straight.

I break the kiss, chest heaving, heart racing. My lips feel swollen, my skin burning where his hands were. I toss the now-dead cigarette into the tray like it’s a lifeline and pull back, retreating before I lose what little self-control I have left.

“Audrey...” he whispers again, ruined.

“Talk to me.”

Drew’s P.O.V

She doesn’t say anything. She just stands behind the counter, catching her breath.

Damn it, Audrey.

Why did we have to meet like this? I’m at my worst. Everything in my life is spiraling, broken in pieces I can’t begin to fix. I should be focusing on clearing my head, on cleaning up this mess I call a life—but all I can think about is her.

Only her.

“Drew…” Her voice pulls me from the fog. I open my eyes and meet her hazel gaze—steady, guarded, beautiful.

“I don’t want you to make a big deal out of what just happened. Maybe we both needed that... but I’m not admitting to more. Things might be going south in your life right now, but you’re still married—and I still want to be your friend. Let’s not ruin that. I don’t know if exploring something more would fix things or just make it worse.”

I sigh. She’s right.

Of course she is. Audrey always uses her head. Meanwhile, mine feels like static. I’m too numb to think straight. I can’t go home because of Jen, and I can’t stay here because of her. I’m somewhere in between—lost, again. Where the hell do I even fit anymore?

“I know I’m in a bad place,” I say, voice low. “And as much as I want you... I can’t drag you into this hell with me.” I pause, swallowing hard. “But I still need you. I need your help. Will you help me get back on my feet?”

“I’m here,” she says quietly. “Just tell me what you need... except sexual favors, that is.”

Despite myself, I laugh. Not the drunk kind of laugh, not the sarcastic kind either—just real, grateful laughter. God, I needed that.

She doesn’t say anything more, and neither do I. There’s only one last thing I need to confess before the alcohol knocks me out.

“I’m an alcoholic, baby… Like, chronic. Constant drunk.”

And with that, darkness swallows me whole.