Page 35 of Meet Stan

I groaned against the hideously bright light filtering in through the window. I flung an arm over my eyes and tried to will my head to stop pounding.

How much had I even had last night? Just the last half of a bottle of wine, but I wasn’t much of a drinker. I realized I was still wearing my clothes and put two and two together.

Not only had Stan not taken advantage of me while I was drunk, but he’d also put me to bed and took care of me. I slowly, carefully pulled my arm away from my eyes, keeping them mostly shut. Even the tiny crack of light that came in through my eyelids seemed like too much.

I eventually got enough gumption to do something extreme. I rolled over onto my back. My head set to hammering again, and it took long moments before the gripping nausea ceased to make my world spin.

I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. There, on his ebony nightstand, rested a bottle of water and a small, fluted cup filled with vitamins and supplements. Some I recognized, like vitamin C. Others I’d never seen before.

A little handwritten note proclaimed ‘take me’ in front of the cup, and ‘drink me’ in front of the water. Well, okay then.

I sat up fully in bed, the blankets slipping down to my waist. Wincing against the bright light and the pain of what felt like hot lead searing the inside of my skull, I managed to take the pills and drank half the water in one go.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, still feeling terrible but maybe, marginally, a bit better. I drank the rest of the bottle greedily, the plastic crinkling in my hand.

I heard footsteps out in the hallway. A moment later a gentle knock came at the door.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Stan asked softly.

“Hungover but doing better.”

“May I come in?”

“It's your house.”

He pushed the door open and entered the room. He wore the same boxers and tank top he’d had on the night before, but now he sported some five o’clock shadow. His eyes were lit up with concern.

“Did you take the pills?”

“I did, yes.”

“They’ll help. So will the water.”

I grimaced, and he moved in closer.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really—you just might not want to be too near me. I probably stink to high heaven.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” he gestured to the bathroom.

“I don’t have anything but these grubby clothes to put on.”

“I’ve got a pair of women’s yoga pants around her somewhere.”

I groaned. “I don’t want to wear the slimy clothes left behind by your previous hookups.”

He chuckled softly, not taking offense.

“That’s not the case here. I ordered athletic gear online and they sent me the wrong thing. I just never bothered to send it back.”

I guess he wasn’t hurting for money.

“All right, thanks. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“It’s all good.”

He went into his closet and withdrew the leggings in question. They still had the tags on them. Stan added one of his t-shirts to the pile and then caught my gaze.

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