Page 48 of Race to Me

He helps me in and closes the door behind me. It’s quiet until he slides into the driver’s seat, but my head is ringing. Going from the loudest night I’ve ever had to complete silence is messing with me.

I lay my head against the headrest, trying to enjoy the cold leather, but it’s so hot. Everything is hot, and sticky. “I don’t feel too great.”

Foster’s hand moves from the shifter to my forehead. “Fuck, Sky, you’re burning up. We’ll be at your place soon.” he announces, turning his signal on.

The words almost sober me up. Almost. “No! You can’t take me home.”

“Why?” He quirks his brow, and I slide further into the seat.

“My parents are there.” I lie. They’ll be there tomorrow, and I don’t want to see them in the morning.

“So? You’re in college. At least you have a designated driver.” He winks, backing out into the street and turning in the direction of home.

I breathe in relief for a moment when we pull into a gas station. Foster exits and returns with a tall, cold bottle of water. I sip it slowly and hold the cool plastic to my forehead.

“Better?” he asks, looking me over.

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

I welcome the rushing air on my cheeks as he directs the crisp vent to my face, but I feel like the longer I stay awake the drunker I feel. Way too much alcohol. “We can chill here for a bit before I take you home.”

“I seriously don’t want to go home.” My tone is sterner, and I hope through the slurs he understands that’s not what my plan is for tonight. “I could have just stayed at the frat house if all you were doing was picking me up to take me home.”

Foster chuckles. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”

“Take me to your place.” The words stumble out, and I instantly realize how bad it sounds.

He laughs, throwing his long arm behind my seat. “I’m not so hard up I need to take a drunk girl to bed, Sky. I wouldn’t do that.”

I roll my eyes. “Why are you so cocky? What makes you think I want to sleep with you?”

“You’re a living, breathing female.” he replies simply. I want to say he’s joking, but his shrug tells me differently.

“You are impossible.” I bury my face in my hands. The fear of him taking me home makes me sweat. The cheap beer wants to work its way up, so I push down the awful taste.

I relax when he turns the radio up a little and turns left out of the gas station, heading for his place.

∞∞∞

We step out of the car, and I can barely get my footing together. Foster leans against the frame, and I take a moment to try and collect my breathing, allowing the warm breeze to overtake me for a moment.

The moment I try to relax is the instant the world begins to spin. I turn towards him to get some help walking, but I drunkenly stumble into his chest. “You smell so good.” I groan. I would clamp my hand over my mouth, but I honestly don’t care what I say right now.

He throws his head back, sighing. “Why did they let you get this drunk?”

“It’s my freaking birthday!” I cry out, trying not to think about how much crap I consumed tonight. I grip his face in my hand, losing all filters for words. “Why do I feel this way about you.” I ask him, trying to search his midnight eyes for an answer. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I don’t understand what you do to me either.” Foster responds before securing his arm around my back to help me walk inside.

It isn’t five minutes later that I’m throwing up all over his freshly cleaned bathroom. And myself.

Awful, painful dry heaves make my body tremble as I hug the porcelain throne. I barely have enough to time to apologize let alone clean myself up before I blackout.

I’m unable to tell him not to help me get undressed after I threw up on myself, and unable to warn him of what he’s about to see.

Eighteen

foster pov

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