Page 97 of Wild Hit
CHAPTER 35
AUDREY
Iwould really like it if a hole opened up right under me and swallowed me whole, please and thank you.
There is no moment in my life where I recall feeling more embarrassment than I do right now. Not even when my brother burst into class to defend me from mean girl bullies because I wasn’t able to do it myself.
But this? It’s a million times worse. And it’s not about the part where I emptied my guts on the shower floor of the place I’m staying temporarily at, and in front of the owner—who will never want to kiss me again now that he knows what kind of art piece my mouth is capable of.
No, it’s because I made his daughter barf half of her body weight.
We’re all sitting on the bathroom floor, probably sharing in the same wish I have of just disappearing forever after this.
Marty leans back on her dad, limp as a wet noodle and letting out a continuous little groan. Miguel provisioned himself with an entire roll of toilet paper, and he’s currently using a wad of it to clean his daughter’s face. His head is tilted down to watch what he’s doing, and his shoulders shake with absolute rage.
Well, I guess I’m glad I didn’t unpack already. I hug my legs against me. I can just go back home next door, hide under a blanket, and never be seen or heard of?—
Miguel lifts his head and it’s worse than I expected because he’slaughing.
The spams all over his body aren’t from an effort to contain the volcanic rage of a father whose beloved daughter got intoxicated with candy and dancing. No. It’s because he’s struggling to contain what would appear to be great guffaws that would decimate our delicate eardrums and what’s left of our egos.
I groan and bury my face between my knees. “Kill me now.” My own breath makes me wanna barf again.
“Me too,” mumbles Marty.
Meanwhile, Miguel sounds like he’s choking. “C’mon, party girl. Let’s get you washed up and in bed, okay?”
His daughter dramatically throws herself at him and Miguel settles her against his shoulder, as if she was but a puppy and not a ten-year-old who’s going to pass me in height in two years or so. This mountain of a man gets up without any effort, his black joggers straining against the incredible power of his thighs.
He catches me staring and I blurt out, “Can I help? Even though I’m technically the one who caused this mess?”
Miguel’s still biting his lips to contain his amusement, and barely manages a “sure.”
My old lady bones creak as I unfurl myself from the tight ball I was in, and get up to follow. We make a very slow trek upstairs, me clinging to the banister and dragging myself in turns. Miguel leaps like friggin’ Legolas in the snow and waits for me to make it upstairs.
“Maybe I should’ve carried you too?” he says under his breath once I’m next to him.
I just give him a look. I have no doubt he could, but whether he should is a different matter entirely. Because I may barely be taller than Marty but I sure am several times heavier, and the thought of this man tumbling down those stairs because of me makes me want to puke my legitimate guts out, not just the content in them.
Finally, he sets the poor kid on her two feet in her bathroom. It’s all black and white but I see pink towels and a matching shower curtain. It gives the same grumpy and cute energy that she does.
“Here.” Miguel reaches for her toothbrush and hands it over to her. Then he turns his focus on me. “Can you please help her out? I need a quick second.”
Probably to laugh at us against a pillow or something.
“Of course,” I croak out. Luckily, he leaves before he can see that I’m shaking like a leaf. “Marty, I know you won’t trust me with anything after this because I suck, but where can I get your pajamas?”
Sass has left her body and she points feebly toward the door. “In the dresser with the cats.”
That sounds like something I’ll be able to find even in my addled state. I grab onto the doorframe, a chair, and even the wall to keep my balance on the way to the dresser. The cats are stuffed toys of all sizes and colors, some more realistic and others adorably cartoonish. Now I know what to get for her birthday if the Machados give me the time of day after this.
“Ugh.” She’s finished washing up and dragging herself out of the bathroom. “Next time less candy and more dancing.”
Somehow I find it in myself to laugh a little. “I don’t know that there’ll be a next time. Your dad’s gonna toss me out to the curb.”
“He wouldn’t dare to do that to my best friend,” she says in a very casual way as she takes the pajama top from my hands.
Kids, man. They can just casually say the best thing you’ve ever heard in your life, injecting a rush of pure warmth and tenderness into your shriveled heart, bringing it back to life and causing your eyes to tingle, all without missing a beat.
