Page 28 of Love Undiscovered
All over him, all over me, all over the guys carrying us.
And then again, with more projection this time. When I opened my eyes again, I saw in horror as Chance spit to the side.
I’d vomited in his mouth.
OH MY GOD!
I covered my face with my hands and started crying. Chance hopped off the shoulders with me in his arms, somehow not dropping me, and brought me upstairs to a private room with a bathroom.
Which is when he held my hair back as I vomited again and again. He flushed after each time, wiped my mouth and face with a cold rag, and rubbed my back; whispering things like, “it’s okay” and “get it all out” in my ear as I cried and vomited.
I know at some point he put me in the shower with him and washed me off and brushed my teeth. Because I vaguely remembered most of it the next morning. And when I woke up next to him in bed, I was clean, and I didn’t smell like, or taste, vomit.
I took in my surroundings cautiously, noting that he kept his room remarkably clean for a college boy. I glanced at my body under the covers, relieved to see that I still had my bra and panty set on. Then I looked over at Chance and saw that he had boxers, and nothing else, on. Giving me full visual access to all his goods.
His body was nothing short of amazing. Not in a gym-rat sort of way. More in an athletic ability and great genetics sort of way. His dick bulged from the boxers and the tip peeked out from the waist band. I wanted to see more, but didn’t want to risk waking him up. There is nothing worse than an awkward morning after.
Especially if the night before was you projectile vomiting in someone else’s mouth. Then falling down repeatedly while they tried to keep you positioned over the toilet for further expulsions. And, let’s not forget passing out completely after which he apparently attempted to clean me up and then put me to bed.
Oh God. The shame. I didn’t want to look at myself, let alone let anyone else see me.
I carefully extricated myself from his grip and eased my way to the side of the bed. I made it all the way out and into the bathroom without waking him up.
He must have rinsed my clothes in the shower as well, because they were damp when I tried to put them on. They did still smell like vomit though. There was no way I could wear them. In fact, I never wanted to see them again.
I shoved them in his bathroom trash can, and then quietly went through his drawers, trying to find something I could wear. I ended up with a white sports jersey that went to my knees in one direction, and socks that went past my knees to my thighs in the other. It would have to do.
I snuck out of his room and down the stairs. People were passed out around the living room in varying stages of undress, continued inebriation, and cleanliness. I winced as I opened the front door and it creaked loudly. But no one seemed to be disturbed. So, with that, I ran back to my dorm. Vowing never to speak to any of those people again.
And I didn’t. To me, they ceased to exist.
Until I ran into Chance again about six months ago when Kat brought him to a girl’s dinner.
I shake my head, to clear it. Realizing it’s my turn at the bar. I get my martini, a sparkling water for Chance, and head back toward our table. Thinking about that night still affects me in ways that I don’t care to think about. Mostly because I’ve still not had a man kiss me like that, since.
I remember most everything about that night, about him, and about our kiss. And how I publicly humiliated myself with massive amounts of projectile vomit. But more than that, I remember how Chance was afterwards. How caring and gentle he was, and how he took care of me and made sure I was okay. Even my roommate had left the party without checking on how I was or who I was with.
Rehashing it all in my mind leaves me feeling tense and a little worked up. Not even realizing until I sit down that I’ve drank half the martini already between the bar and the table.
My head spins just a little bit.
Oh dear. I cannot have history repeating itself with Chance Bauer. I just can’t.
