“Take the backseat with him,” Sam said, climbing behind the wheel and revving the engine. She peeked through the back window and saw Blake sprawled out and moaning. From the god-awful smell that hit her when she opened the door, it was clear that someone had been puking. With as much gentleness as she could muster, she lifted Blake’s shoulders, slipped into the seat, and laid his head on her lap. His forehead was warm to touch and his breath reeked of alcohol. Sam glanced back as he drove and offered an apologetic smile. “Should I remove his beanie? He’s burning up.” Sam shook his head vehemently. “No, he wouldn’t like that. He’s just had too much to drink. Don’t worry about him.” Before she could answer, Blake took her hand from his forehead. “Hey . . .” He drawled the one word into four syllables in full drunken form. “Hey, you,” she whispered. Blake gave an innocent smile. His good eye was closed, and in the glow of the little light from the dashboard, he almost looked peaceful.
