Page 36 of One Week Wingman

After she’s gone, I manage to drag myself to the bathroom. It’s only as I’m massaging shampoo into my hammering skull that it comes back to me: All my drunken, rambling confessions to Seb. He practically had to carry me to bed!

I pause, flashes of memory flooding my mind. Seb easing my shoes off, looking up at me with that smoldering grin. Gazing at my mouth, as if he was he going to kiss me? Wait, did he—

Oh GOD.

The rest of that pretty picture finally comes into focus.

The part where I vomited on him.

Kill me now.I let the almost-too-hot water pummel on my face while I think about fleeing the country and changing my name. Because I’m pretty sure that Sebastian Wainwright thought about kissing me (maybe) and I puked (definitely) all over the man.

Smooth, Roxy. Real smooth.

When I make it downstairs,I’m wearing my comfiest sweats and desperate for caffeine.

“Morning, sunshine.” As if in answer to my prayers, Sebastian is standing in the doorway, dressed in a dark knit sweater that brings out the blue of his eyes—and holding a tray of takeout drinks in one capable hand. “The others got tired of waiting, so they left without us.”

“We can bail?” I brighten.

“Not a chance,” Seb grins at me. “Even if I have to carry you there, you’re not missing out on the family fun.”

Carry me… My stomach lurches again, remembering his body pressed up against me last night, and for a moment I think about fleeing for the hills.

But no, I’m a grown woman and also, he has coffee.

I reach out, begging. “Help me, Seb,” I say, plaintively, eyeing the steaming cups in his hands. “You’re my only hope.”

He laughs, but he passes me a take-out cup. “Thirsty?” he asks, looked amused. “I thought you had plenty, last night.”

I take a gulp so fast, I burn my tongue, but I don’t care. “I’m never drinking again,” I swear. “Ever.”

“I got pastries too.” He dangles a bag from my favorite bakery.

I gasp. “You didn’t get the—”

“Blueberry vanilla custard?” He passes me a bag. “Your mom mentioned they were your favorite.”

“Oh my god, thank you. You are a true friend.” I tear open a pastry practically the size of a baseball mitt and devour it with a moan. When I look up, Seb is watching me with a weird expression on his face. My stomach swoops with what I assume is nausea. “I’m so sorry about last night,” I manage. “I don’t know how I—”

“Got so drunk?” Seb quirks an eyebrow. “Well, the industrial-sized quantities of alcohol might have had something to do with it.”

I grab my jacket and follow him to his rental car.

“I think I… got in my feelings a little,” I admit. “About singing. And Daisy and Jason. And being back here again…”

“I figured.” His expression shifts into a playful smile. “You’re actually an entertaining drunk.”

“Oh goodie,” I mutter, getting in the front passenger seat, and shoving more pastry in my face.

“And you only got a small amount of vomit on me,” he adds, sliding behind the wheel. “Really, you were surprisingly neat.”

“That’s me, a neat vomit machine.” I groan, close my eyes, and gulp the sweet, sweet coffee… until it’s all gone.

But Seb just hands me the second cup, he has waiting in his hands.

“For me?” I blink, almost tearing up at the selfless gesture.

Then Seb smirks, lifts a wet, limp lock of my hair, and fixes me with a truly pitying look. “From the looks of you, you need it way more than me.”

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