Page 64 of Stay with Me

I hit the floor on my knees in front of the toilet—oh God, was this toilet even clean? Too late. I grasped the sides as my stomach heaved and rolled, bringing up everything and anything.

Tequila fucking sucked.

Thirteen

Tequila was the wild juice of the devil and I’d never partake in it again.

The most messed-up thing was that people always claimed that they didn’t remember what they did when they were drunk. I call bull poop on that, because I remembered—oh God, I could recall it all—in painstaking, humiliating detail.

I’d told Jax all the things I hadn’t done, and some of that crap was just ridiculous. Like things that probably made him think I grew up in a bomb shelter or something.

Then I’d cuddled the bottle.Cuddledit. Like it was a puppy. Or a kitten. Whatever. Something furry that was not a fucking bottle of liquor.

I’d also shown him a trophy and a picture of me all gussied up like a baby doll and told him Iusedto be pretty. That alone made me want to shove my head in an oven, but oh, there’d been more.

I’d also told him about the Mom stuff, which was too horrifying to even repeat.

And I’d also tried to kiss him.

Aaand then I puked my guts up while Jax held my hair and rubbed my back. He’d actually rubbed—wow—my back, and Ithinkhe’d talked me through it. I don’t know what he said, but I remembered his voice, low and soothing as my stomach cramped and heaved. But he had to have felt the scars. My skin wasn’t exactly even on my back. It was rough and raised in some areas, and I knew it could be felt through my shirt.

Once I was done hurling up all the tequila and what was left of my pride, I’d lain on the bathroom floor, because it was cool, smooth, and perfect. He let me stay there while he snatched a damp towel and then—oh God, even more embarrassing—he wiped down my face. To top it all off, he’d picked me up once he’d been sure I wasn’t going to vomit on him and carried me to bed, where he forced water and two ibuprofens down my throat.

I’d passed out on my side with Jax sitting next to me, his leg pressing into my hip, and when I woke up at some point during the morning, feeling like I’d been hit by a fire truck full of hot, muscular firemen, Jax was still there.

He’d been stretched out behind me, the front of his body pressed to the back of mine, and his arm had been a heavy weight on my hip. If I hadn’t felt like my head was going to split open, I might’ve enjoyed waking up like that. Instead, I panicked like I’d just been busted in the wrong person’s bed.

I’d jumped from the bed, literally, and nearly ate the floor. I had no idea how I grabbed fresh clothes and made it through the shower, washing away the grossness of the tequila yuck that seemed to have bled through my skin, without sitting down in the tub and crying over the pain behind my eyes and all the dumb,dumbthings I’d done and said the night before.

Jax was awake when I shuffled out of the bathroom, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he walked into the bathroom with his own toothbrush, which he’d stashed there after the second night of staying in this house.

When he’d come out, his hair damp from obviously splashing water over his face and head, I was sitting on the couch and quickly averted my gaze, staring at the spot on the floor where I’d cuddled the bottle of tequila.

The tequila bottle was mysteriously absent. I hope it crawled back into whatever hole it was birthed from.

I’d tried to kiss him and he’d jerked back from me.

God, someone shoot me now.

I couldn’t look at him. Could not do it. Not even when he said my name.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when I didn’t answer.

Lifting one shoulder, I studied my purple toenail polish. “Like crud.”

“I have a cure for that.”

What? A semiautomatic weapon?

“We’re going to indulge in the official breakfast of champions for hangovers.”

Brows knitting, I lifted my head. He was grinning at me like I hadn’t gotten trashed the night before and tried to molest him. “What?”

“Waffle House.”

I stared at him, blinking slowly, and then I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat under the makeup I wore. “I don’t want to eat. I don’t even want to think about food.”

“You think that now, but trust me, the grease will do wonders for your stomach. I know. Have had a lot of practice at it.”

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