Page 70 of The Road to Home Base
As if my intoxication had a mind of its own, I hiccuped. “Agreed. Oof. I’m sorry. Should we just sleep?”
“As soon as the room stops spinning, yeah.”
Guilt hadn’t quite hit me yet. Still in the dark, I couldn’t read Rome’s face. His slurry words gave no indication of what swirled around inside his head. We’d have to let tonight be tonight and face the music tomorrow.
The room continued to spin. I grounded one foot on the floor, half my body hanging off the bed. I don’t think either of us fell asleep until pre-dawn.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rome
COTTONMOUTH. POUNDINGhead. Stomach clenched. Throat dry. The list went on as I woke up during the late morning hour. None of that compared to the malaise of guilt that swelled within me like a balloon inflated with regrets and bad decisions.
Had we really tried that last night? Had it really failed so miserably that we passed out without another word?
I cracked open eyes that were caked with rheum. I wiped and rubbed and blinked until the morning sunlight streaming through my numerous windows didn’t make me throw up. I looked over to check on Alex.
Missing.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I threw back the covers, leaped to my feet, then promptly crashed my ass back into bed. A vise tightened around my temples as whatever I consumed the night before crawled its way back up my esophagus. I braced my elbows against my knees and dropped my head into my hands, breathing rhythmic breaths through my fingers.
When stability returned, I stood up, slower this time. Okay. Equilibrium. Blissful equilibrium.
Still naked from the night before, I fished around until I found sweatpants and a hoodie, then tugged them on. My phone wasn’t on the nightstand, but a bottle of lube and a condom wrapper sat there like drug paraphernalia during a police raid—obvious and evidentiary to the guilty party.
I wanted to say “I love you,”I thought as I shuffled to the bedroom door and poked my head outside, listening.
Sound. Oh, beautiful, wonderful sound. He hadn’t left. I trotted down the stairs and stuffed my hands into the kangaroo pouch of my hoodie and gingerly tiptoed around the corner to the kitchen.
Alex moved lethargically as he prepared what looked to be a hangover cure. He sliced up a banana on a cutting board. I saw two large mason jars stuffed with ice, lemon, and water. Most preciously, there was a bottle of ibuprofen. He twisted open a bottle of a red-colored sports drink and divided it between two glasses. He finally noticed me when he finished scooping dollops of peanut butter to drop on the small plates with sliced banana.
“There he is,” Alex said in an unusual tone. He fished out two forks from the drawer on the island. “How’s your head?”
I slid onto a stool at the island and stared at him before answering. “I’m sorry,” I said. His eyes narrowed as his head cocked a fraction. “Last night. Alex, I’m so sorry. That was…. that wasawful.”
He pointed to the mason jars. “Drink.” I started to say more but he talked over me. “Drink. Half of that. Come on, drink.”
I drained not half, but all of the water in one go. Politely burped into my hand. He pushed the plate of banana and peanut butter toward me with the fork.
“Mangia,” Alex said in an overembelished Italian accent. I couldn’t help but laugh. We ate our meager hangover breakfast in relative quietude. The unspoken words of my apology didn’t sit like the proverbial elephant, thankfully.
Alex refilled my water, slid it across the island, then leveled me with a gaze. “Why on earth are you trying to apologize, Rome?”
“I tried to take advantage last night. We were both drunk. I should have known better. It ended in catastrophe and I don’t want you to think that any time I get a drink in me that I get handsy and I want—”
His hand went up and I stopped. “Yes, that was a total fail last night. No, it wasn’t a catastrophe. No, you absolutelydid nottake advantage of me because I was totally a willing participant. The issue is that we went too fast. Too much, too fast. I couldn’t even get the condom right.” His cheeks burned and his eyes fell to the island.
Though he needn’t be embarrassed. My face went redder than the untouched sports drinks in their glasses. Alex noticed and called me out.
“Youhave nothing to be ashamed about, Rome.”
I mumbled something under my breath too quiet for him to hear. He asked me to repeat it. I didn’t have the confidence for this conversation, but like all things in my professional career, I rallied and pushed through. “I don’t like condoms,” I said louder, clearer, though my face remained red. “It doesn’t matter what size you get, they’re always too tight and constrictive. They’re uncomfortable.”
Alex’s brow went up. I saw his pupils dilate a fraction. “I’m clean,” he blurted out. “Got every test known to man the day after Ricky hit me. I’m well past any incubation stage, too. Got retested two weeks ago just to be sure.”
My mouth dropped. “I have to get tested for the Riders. Clean as a whistle every time since I keep to myself.”
