"Oh?" The new information sparked intrigue. "What's his name?"
"I honestly have no idea. We've never really spoken to each other, and everyone just kinda minds their own business, you know?"
They reached their floor. Yash dug out his keys from the back pocket of his jeans and tossed them to her. "Grab what you can and go ahead. It's number 703." She held the keys but made no attempt to step out. Somehow, the knowledge that he was a passing acquaintance of Yash brought out the urge to help him. What if he rolled over and drowned in his own vomit? Or what if he got robbed while unconscious or worse?
"What is it?" Yash paused in the act of shoving cases onto the hallway and cast her a puzzled look that quickly turned to incredulous denial at her expression. "No, no fucking way!"
"I didn't say anything!" Sam protested.
"I know that look, Sameera. It's the one you get when you've thought up something ridiculous." He straightened and glared. "That's the good Samaritan look, and no, we are not helping this dude."
"I don't have a look." She huffed, nose in the air. "But, we can't just leave him here, Yash. He could get hurt."
"Well, he shouldn't have gotten shitfaced."
"You said he was a decent guy. Maybe something happened that made him decide to do what he did. He could have gotten some bad news."
"I thought he was a decent guy." Yash sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sam, leave this alone, please?"
Trust fund guy let out another groan. "Wedding...," he swatted at an invisible fly, head rolling side to side. "Nicola...gotta go."
The siblings exchanged a look. Sam wondered who Nicola could be. Girlfriend or fiancée? He'd mentioned a wedding so it was possible she could be his fiancée. Maybe they'd had a fight, or broken up, and he'd turned to alcohol to ease the misery.
Either way, Yash was wrong. No one deserved to spend the night passed out in a pool of their own vomit.
Mouth set in resolve, Sam tossed the keys back to Yash and marched up to the stranger. She leaned over him, dark hair falling in a curtain around her face, trailing over his chest.
"Sam," Yash's tone held a mix of exasperation and annoyance. "The guy probably weighs twice what you do."
She ignored him, gathering her hair up and twisting it into a ponytail, which she secured with a wristband. She rolled up the sleeves of her cotton shirt, placed her hands on his shoulders, surprised to feel firm muscles underneath the fabric and pulled.
He didn't budge. She tried again, bracing both feet wide apart, and this time he moved, lolling forward and knocking her onto her butt.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Yash stepped forward, grabbed the guy before they both toppled to the ground, and lifted him off Sam. He gave her back his keys and barked an order to go open the door.
Sam scrambled past, hurrying down the hallway, glancing at doors as she passed. She stopped at the right one and inserted the key card, pushing open the door. The apartment was cast in shadow, and she stepped aside as Yash, carrying the stranger over one shoulder, entered the living room.
"Lights!"
The lights flicked on, flooding the apartment in soft yellow. The living room alone was nearly the size of a cricket field, one end completely covered floor to ceiling in glass windows, offering a stunning view of the city below. The dining area and kitchen were open to the living room, separated by a half wall. Several modern paintings hung from cream walls, and a thick, tan carpet covered the entire floor. A huge TV hung from another wall, surrounded by a tan and white sectional.
Yash placed the man on the couch and glanced at his stained T-shirt. "Damn, this was a favorite. If he barfs on my furniture, you get to replace it."
"I'll do your laundry for a month," Sam's smile could melt steel. "But, thanks for helping him."
He turned away and stalked to the kitchen, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She knelt before the sofa, running her eyes over trust fund guy. He looked to be sleeping peacefully, long lashes brushing against ruddy cheeks.
An inexplicable urge to stroke those cheeks rose, but she tamped it down.
"Don't be creepy, Sameera." Yash came close and handed her a glass filled with water. "I'll hold up his head, try to get him to drink."
"Okay."
She perched on the edge of the sofa, waiting until his head was elevated and placed the glass to his lips. When the liquid touched his lips, they parted, and he gulped down the water as though he'd been dying of thirst.
"More," He whispered, reaching blindly for the glass. His fingers closed over her wrist instead, warm and strong. Sam's skin tingled at the contact, light shocks running from the point of contact straight to her brain. "Please."
"We'll get some more," She whispered, transferring the glass to her free hand. "It's okay."
He sighed, loosening his hold. Sam met Yash's eyes, and he nodded, taking the glass back to the kitchen.
She looked down again, and he was staring at her through unfocused bloodshot eyes, fair eyebrows furrowed.
"Who are you?" He rasped.
"Hey buddy, I'm Sam," She smiled at him. "Glad to see you awake."
"I'm not Buddy," He sounded unsure, shaking his head, deep in thought. He brightened as a thought occurred to him. "I'm Ryan."
Sam's smile widened. "It's nice to meet you, Ryan."
His lips formed a beautiful smile. "You're beautiful, not like Nicky..." The smile tapered to a frown at the name, his face an interesting play of emotions. He looked confused, angry, and sad, all in the space of a minute. "Nicky lied."
He had a broken heart. Sam's guess had been right. Her heart went out to him, knowing all too well the pain of losing someone close to one's heart and the need to escape that gut-wrenching ordeal. It didn't matter if it was a breakup or death, the pain hit hard. Ryan had chosen alcohol as his escape.
She had chosen a new continent as hers.
Yash returned with the water. "He's awake?"
"Yes," She answered without taking her eyes off Ryan. Something in his gaze held her arrested, the intensity with which he returned the look, not even acknowledging Yash, made it seem the two of them were the only ones existing in a bubble universe. "He is."
"Here," Yash shoved the glass at her.
Taking the glass, she held it to Ryan. "Drink up."
He pushed up to one elbow, the other reached up to cover her hand over the glass, bringing it to his lips. Sam was conscious of Yash shifting from one foot to the other, ready to intervene in case Ryan got funny.
He drank, much slower this time, never breaking eye contact until the glass was empty.
"Thank you." Ryan let go of her hand and lay back, lids fluttering shut. Within seconds, his breathing evened out, falling into a peaceful sleep.