Don rested his head against the porch railing. It only came up to his waist, so he had to slump far over for his head to contact the wood. Kevin repeated himself, hoping that Don wouldn't say “What?” yet again.

“I said I can drive you home.”

“Dude, no, I can sleep here.”

“I’m pretty sure Jerome’s going to say you can’t sleep here.”

Kevin wasn’t sure if Don remembered they had been at somebody’s house. Sure, they had been in a house, with a kitchen and a basement and rooms upstairs, but someone lived there, someone who was going to have to clean up by tomorrow afternoon when his fiancée got back from that business trip.

“C’mon, I’ll drive.”

“Wait,” Don said, raising his head just enough to be able to look at Kevin. “You can’t drive.”

“Yeah I can. I’m designated driver.”

“You drank more than I did. You were like obsessed with the cherry vodka.”

“Oh. Was that vodka?”

“Yeah, you should be passed out puking by now.”

Kevin gripped the porch rail with one hand. “I-I really didn’t think it was that much.”

“It was way too much, man. Who the hell drinks straight vodka anyway? Dude.” Don let his head drop, laughing into the railing.

“Heh heh, yeah, that was pretty, uh…” He tried to think of a word that wouldn’t seem out of place. “Out there.”

“Out there? How about frickin’ weird.”

“Um, yeah.”

“Trust me, you can’t drive. I’ll do it.”

“We could call a taxi.”

“There is no way a taxi is coming all the way out here to the frickin’ boonies. I’m doing it, it’s not that far. Gimme the keys.”

Kevin hesitated. He knew he was going to regret saying what he was about to say. There was no way on earth, in any other situation, that it would ever be a good idea to let the drunk guy drive, especially if there was a perfectly sober person there who actually had a car. But the sober person in this scenario had a secret to keep, and a cover that was in danger of being blown.

“Okay, fine, but you have to promise me if you’re feeling anything less than 100%, you pull over.”

Yep. He was regretting it already. Fuck.