Untethered

18 | Three Little Words

The three of them stayed at Speedy's until closing. Emma had sobered up slightly, and she vaguely realized that she and Ryan were wrapped around each other like two creatures morphed together, in a blobbish tangle of limbs. But it felt good, and he felt good, and since she couldn't immediately see any downside to it, she was happy to stay that way.

After everything that had happened between them over the past couple of weeks, she was on the very edge of sneaking her toe over the line to test this whole "relationship" thing. It didn't hurt that every single time he touched her, held her, or even looked at her, her heart started doing gymnastical flips, and her lungs stopped functioning properly.

When they finally untangled and joined Evan, who they found sitting in the truck by himself, Emma was sleepy and happy. She was also, still, pretty drunk, and Ryan had to boost her into the truck so she didn't fall on her ass.

Since Evan was most sober, he drove. Emma slumped against Ryan, and her eyes slid shut, as the humming of the tires on the road lulled her to sleep.

"Why are you so broody?" Ryan asked.

"I'm not broody. I don't brood." Evan replied tersely.

Ryan choked back a laugh so as not to disturb Emma, "Dude, you invented 'broody.' What happened tonight?"

"Nothing happened," Evan bit out.

"Oh... so, Rosie. Say no more, my friend." Ryan chuckled quietly as Evan shot him a deadly glare.

Nothing more was said until they pulled into the driveway at Greta's house.

"I'm going to stay at the house. You want me to take her?" Evan asked, jerking his head in Emma's direction.

"Nah," Ryan was already scooping Emma into his arms, "she's still got her things here." Evan pursed his lips and his brow furrowed. Sensing his reluctance, Ryan added, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her."

"You better." Evan grunted, turning, and heading toward his grandparent's house.

~*~*~

Once inside, Ryan was faced with an unexpected problem. Emma was not waking up. For the second night in a row, he carried her upstairs, dropped her onto his bed, and slipped her sandals off, before pulling the comforter over her prone form. Unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it on the bed, he left the room to use the bathroom and brush his teeth.

When he returned, he began to shuck off his jeans, but froze when he heard her moving around, and then moan quietly. Afraid she might be going to vomit, he spun around. What he saw, illuminated in a pale shaft of moonlight, shocked him.

What the...

Emma was naked-well, mostly naked. Her own clothes were scattered over the bed and onto the floor. She was nude except for her panties, and struggling to put the shirt on that he had dropped on the bed before he left her alone.

Quickly, he turned away.

"Emma!" he hissed, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I... I'mnm genting dreshed," she mumbled drunkenly. "Whytha he—hiccup—hell are the bunttons on tha wrong shide?" she dropped her hands, staring down at the open shirt in frustration, and then fell back on the bed.

"Dammit, woman! Are you dressed yet?"

All he received in response was another quiet groan, and then she started snoring softly.

"Emma!"

"Wha?"

"Get dressed!"