Page 51 of The Fix

Because it feels too much like sympathy.

“Don’t you have a phone to answer?” I snap.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Not right now. Now drink again and stop being a grump.”

Grumbling, I take another reluctant sip of the cool blue liquid that tastes weird without vodka in it.

“Good. Now tell me how bad this has gotten before.”

“What?” Her question makes my brain hurt and it’s already starting to pound in my skull.

“What else has happened when you ignored the shaking?”

Is it that bad?

“Um …” I raise a hand to swipe at my brow, but the bottle bumps my nose, and I nearly drop it. “I normally would have had a drink by now. And not this shit.” I lift the bottle and tilt it, the liquid sloshing.

“Crap. Okay,” Anna mutters and wraps a towel around my dripping wrist. “Think you could eat something?”

“We just ate, Prune.” I roll my eyes, but that makes the room spin and my head pound. “Just need to sleep it off.”

“Toby, this is not just a hangover.”

I sigh, flop back against the cushion, and slide my eyes closed. “Pretty bad hangover. Hair of the dog works for that.” My tongue dries and feels too big for my mouth, to which I raise the sports drink to my lips even though I know what’s really coming.

My upper body pitches forward, the back of my throat burning despite the chilled drink, and my abdomen clenches.

A different kind of plastic is shoved under my chin and my body takes the opportunity to purge everything left in my stomach.

The sound and the smell surround me, pulling more heaves from my guts until there’s not even bile left.

I cough as chills take over and spit into the bin in my lap.

“Think you’re done for now?”

Oh, Anna’s here. She’s such a prune. She’s gonna hate this.

“Super sexy, right, Prune?”

She hums half-heartedly before I feel her touch against my shoulder, circling around my upper back.

It’s nice enough that I zero in on the motion, allowing it to settle my racing mind and my rapidly beating heart.

Until another wave of nausea takes over me, and I hunch over the small bathroom trashcan with more garbage coming out of my mouth.

Yet, her hands stay, and I hear whispered words coming from her lips. Lips I wish I could kiss, but I know that she’d freak the hell out if I did.

Why do I want to kiss her so bad?

Stunned and tensed, I’m not ready for the next wave that hits me like a freight train, ripping its way out of my gut and splashing into the already half-filled can.

“Fuuuuuck.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Anna

Tears prick the backs of my eyes.

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