Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
God this is embarrassing. No one wants to vomit in front of the guy they’re sleeping with.
Or their new boyfriend, I remind myself.
“It’s okay,” he says again.
I want to tell him it’s not okay at all but I obviously can’t speak. I heave and heave and heave until I don’t have anything left to upchuck.
Then Blake scoops me up, flushes the toilet, and leads me to the shower where he strips the both of us naked and steps inside with me.
My legs are shaking, and I taste nothing but stomach acid and leftover Jameson, but the moment the hot water hits me, I feel some of last night dissolve.
I moan loudly and place my hands on the shower wall, trying to hold myself up while my head hangs down.
“Darling, don’t you dare moan in here like that,” he says to me, squirting body wash into his hands and rubbing them together. “I’m not about to take advantage of a hungover wreck. Just as I didn’t take advantage of you last night.”
“How noble,” I mutter.
“Well, it’s kind of noble when you were attempting to give me a blow job the entire cab ride back here. Poor cabby, I had to tip him extra, even though I think he enjoyed your effort. Even when we went to bed, you didn’t pass out like I thought you would. Instead you kept at it again.”
I manage to look at him, the water running down the strong planes of his face. “Really?”
He nods, sliding his hands over my shoulders. “Yup. I’ve never seen you so horny. I’ve also never seen you so smashed before.”
When I woke up this morning I felt like I was lying at the bottom of a grave filled with dog shit and vomit and had to climb my way out. But Blake was in bed with me and already had water, Gatorade, Advil and a B-Vitamin booster on the bedside table ready to go. Too bad it wasn’t long after that I had to run to the bathroom.
“Did I make a fool of myself last night?” I ask him. It almost hurts to speak.
“No,” he says. “You were quiet. You kind of went inward. Everyone else was drunk though, so we weren’t the only ones, and I made you leave before the party was over.”
I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes, water running into my mouth. “Thank god. Did you behave yourself?”
There’s a beat of hesitation before he says, “Of course I did,” and continues soaping me up. “Want me to shampoo your hair?” he asks, and it reminds me of our first time in the shower together.
“Okay,” I tell him, relaxing into him as his strong fingers work through my hair. It feels so good to be attended to like this. I know Blake is naked in the shower with me, but I still appreciate how non-sexual it is. Granted, I can feel his erection poking my hip, but still. He’s being tender with me, with every touch of his hands, each caress of his eyes as they gaze at me. All that and after puking in front of him, too.
When we get out of the shower, he slips his robe on me and leads me to the living room where he feeds me jasmine tea and organic soup and dotes on me in a way I never thought possible. I mean, beneath my raging headache and queasy stomach, my heart feels as if it might burst.
This is more than falling in love.
Fuck it.
I am in love.
And I think he can feel it.
Even when I try to talk about work, he tells me we can discuss that tomorrow and that today is a vacation, a day to recuperate. He’s practically doing everything short of feeding me grapes.
“Don’t you have to feed Fluffy?” I ask him, my feet on his lap as he squeezes them, giving me a foot massage.
“Heath took care of that yesterday,” he says, visibly shuddering.
“I hate to bring this up, especially as I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk about hairy arachnids” I say, “but how long do you plan on keeping Fluffy?”
He tilts his head to me, a piece of dark, thick hair flopping over his forehead. “Is this your first step as my girlfriend, to get rid of Fluffy and maybe my Lionel Richie records?”
“First of all, Lionel Richie is a god.”
“All night long,” Blake belts out.
“All night,” I sing back. “And second of all, no. If you’re cool with having a giant, ugly, hairy, yet surprisingly delicate tarantula in your apartment, then I’m fine with it, too. But he does seem to cause you permanent anxiety and he’s not exactly yours.”
He sighs, closing his eyes as he leans back against the cushion. “I know. With the divorce and all, Kevin might be moving, I’m not really sure. I hope not. But if he does, he for sure won’t be able to take him. Luckily I think Heath may want him. Crazy bugger.”