Drunk. Sloppy. Heavy as all hell.

This was the last time you were hauling this idiot home.

Your coworker—your responsibility for the night, unfortunately—was practically dead weight against your shoulder, his breath hot and thick with the stench of cheap liquor. He hadn’t driven himself to the company dinner, didn’t even own a damn car since he “lived close enough,” and now that decision was biting you in the ass as you dragged his useless, drunken self down the dimly lit sidewalk.

He muttered something unintelligible, his voice slurred and sticky, barely distinguishable from the groans of exhaustion he’d been making since you peeled him out of the restaurant booth. You ignored it, adjusting your grip, biting back a curse as his full weight threatened to bring you down with him.

Then—sloppy movement, lips puckered in some messy attempt at a kiss.

He missed, obviously, nearly toppling forward as you veered sharply away, barely keeping his swaying body upright. The bastard let out a groggy, lovesick hum, trying again, his whole weight pressing into you like he wasn’t seconds from eating pavement.

“C’monnn, don’t be mean,” he slurred, breath reeking of alcohol. “You’re so—hic—bossy at work, but I’m not that bad, huh?”

He whined—actually whined—as you dodged him again, like some pitiful, drunken animal. If he hadn’t been so damn heavy, you would’ve dropped him right there.