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Summary
Robby grit his teeth, biting down on his nerves, and a blank look crossed over his face. It was a difficult proposition. He would never consider the doe-eyed medical student taking him home, not in a sober mind, if it were not for the searing pain that was grinding his shoulders into the base of his neck. He was right - he could not drive, he could not get into the house, not without several tries, and he did not want to go home alone. It was the inevitability of ending the day in that cold, lonely house that got him into this mess in the first place, where he overexerted himself to stay at work. Whitaker was offering him a hand, and his beautiful, sad eyes were sparkling at the idea of helping him.
And suddenly, Whitaker was bracing him at his side, warmth growing between their bodies in the frost-bitten parking lot.
“It’s the Mercedes.” Robby pointed, and the cold air formed a cloud on his quick breath.
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Robby throws out his back, and learns to accept help.