Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“I’ve got a glass of water for you.”
“I drank from the tap.” Then splashed water all over my face, dousing the countertop and the floor around the sink in the process. But at least I found a fragrant candle and matches, and now the scent of leather and brandy permeates the posh little en suite bathroom, helping to mask odors.
“What about ice?” The door handle twitches.
I had the good sense to lock it. “Nope. All good.”
“Come on, Justine. I can handle vomit. Let me help you.” His voice is soft, pleading.
“The vomiting portion of this show is now over.” I hold my breath and grit my teeth against the cramp twisting my insides. We’ve moved on to the less pleasant symptoms of food poisoning.
This is what I get for reveling in Nancy’s stomach bug to my own gain.
“Okay, then let me in.” He jangles the handle again.
“Garrett, if you step foot inside this bathroom, we are never having sex again. I’m not even remotely kidding.” Just having him hover so close to the door—where he could hear certain bodily sounds—is enough to stir my anxiety.
Silence hangs.
The cramp finally passes. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
I groan. I was supposed to be at the hotel two hours ago.
“I messaged Sara. It’s all good. She understands.”
All that stress over tonight, and six pieces of sushi solved my problems. Sort of. “When do you have to leave for the bachelor party?”
He snorts. “I’m not leaving you here alone like this.”
“I’m fine. I just”—What’s a sexy term for explosive diarrhea?—“have to deal with this for a few more hours, and then I’ll fall into a coma.” I think. I’ve never had food poisoning before. “You can go off with the guys for your pretend tequila-tasting pub crawl. Honestly, I’d rather you be gone.”
There’s another long pause. “I’m going to run out to the drugstore and grab you some electrolytes. I’ll be back in twenty.”
My lower intestines snarl at me. “Good idea. Run along now. Take your time.” I crawl to the toilet.
“These sheets smell nice.” My words are garbled as I face-plant into the pillow. “Like lavender.”
Garrett sets a tall glass on the bedside table. “You need to drink this. It’s Pedialyte.”
“M’kay,” I mumble, making no effort to lift my head. I took my time in the shower, letting the water sluice over my body to remove the stale sweat and sickness from my skin. The rest of my energy was depleted from digging my pajamas out of my bag, scrubbing off the Marilyn Manson-esque smudged eye makeup, and brushing the puke taste from my mouth.
I have nothing left in me.
I am a limp piece of lettuce.
But at least I feel clean again.
“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” I crack an eyelid to check for a clock, but there isn’t one in this spare room, and I left my phone in the bathroom. I have no clue what time it is.
“I told you I wasn’t going.” The mattress sinks under his weight.
“If you think for one second—”
“I don’t.”
“No hokeypokey tonight.”
“Don’t you mean hanky-panky?”
“That too.”
“I think you’re delirious.” The mattress shifts more, and then a palm smooths over my back, rubbing in circles.
A feeble moan slips from me. “That feels good. Keep doing that.”
“See? You do need me here.”
But a bridesmaid and groomsman both skipping out on tonight? “Joe’s gonna think I faked this just to get out of the bachelorette.”
“Would you if you weren’t sick?”
“No. I’d go and be utterly miserable.”
“Then I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“I should have taken a picture and sent it to him.”
“Of what?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Sara did say you two are close.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry you’re missing the bachelor party.”
“I don’t care. Besides, I don’t think I can spend an entire night around your ex without punching him in the face.”
“That’s so sweet. But, when you think about it, Bastard Bill did you a favor. If he wasn’t such a supreme douchebag, you wouldn’t be having the best sex of your life.”
“Is that so?” Laughter laces his voice.
“I may be projecting a little bit.” But I’m not lying. Maybe it’s because this all feels so new and different, not weighted down by the kind of bedroom boredom that comes with a long-term relationship. The thing is, Bill and I were never bored in the bedroom. If he ever claimed anything else, I’d call him on that blatant lie, and I’d see the truth of it in his eyes.
No … something electric happens every time Garrett and I connect.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” His fingers pick up where his palm left off, the circles more defined, digging into sore spots earned from all that retching. “And you’re right. I should be shaking his hand.”
I smile into my pillow. “I still think you should punch him. But I want to be there to see it.”