Thirteen
Tequila was the wild juice of the devil and I’d never partake in it again.
The most messed-up thing was that people always claimed that they didn’t remember what they did when they were drunk. I call bull poop on that, because I remembered—oh God, I could recall it all—in painstaking, humiliating detail.
I’d told Jax all the things I hadn’t done, and some of that crap was just ridiculous. Like things that probably made him think I grew up in a bomb shelter or something.
Then I’d cuddled the bottle. Cuddled it. Like it was a puppy. Or a kitten. Whatever. Something furry that was not a fucking bottle of liquor.
I’d also shown him a trophy and a picture of me all gussied up like a baby doll and told him I used to be pretty. That alone made me want to shove my head in an oven, but oh, there’d been more.
I’d also told him about the Mom stuff, which was too horrifying to even repeat.
And I’d also tried to kiss him.
Aaand then I puked my guts up while Jax held my hair and rubbed my back. He’d actually rubbed—wow—my back, and I think he’d talked me through it. I don’t know what he said, but I remembered his voice, low and soothing as my stomach cramped and heaved. But he had to have felt the scars. My skin wasn’t exactly even on my back. It was rough and raised in some areas, and I knew it could be felt through my shirt.
Once I was done hurling up all the tequila and what was left of my pride, I’d lain on the bathroom floor, because it was cool, smooth, and perfect. He let me stay there while he snatched a damp towel and then—oh God, even more embarrassing—he wiped down my face. To top it all off, he’d picked me up once he’d been sure I wasn’t going to vomit on him and carried me to bed, where he forced water and two ibuprofens down my throat.
I’d passed out on my side with Jax sitting next to me, his leg pressing into my hip, and when I woke up at some point during the morning, feeling like I’d been hit by a fire truck full of hot, muscular firemen, Jax was still there.
He’d been stretched out behind me, the front of his body pressed to the back of mine, and his arm had been a heavy weight on my hip. If I hadn’t felt like my head was going to split open, I might’ve enjoyed waking up like that. Instead, I panicked like I’d just been busted in the wrong person’s bed.
I’d jumped from the bed, literally, and nearly ate the floor. I had no idea how I grabbed fresh clothes and made it through the shower, washing away the grossness of the tequila yuck that seemed to have bled through my skin, without sitting down in the tub and crying over the pain behind my eyes and all the dumb, dumb things I’d done and said the night before.
Jax was awake when I shuffled out of the bathroom, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he walked into the bathroom with his own toothbrush, which he’d stashed there after the second night of staying in this house.
When he’d come out, his hair damp from obviously splashing water over his face and head, I was sitting on the couch and quickly averted my gaze, staring at the spot on the floor where I’d cuddled the bottle of tequila.
The tequila bottle was mysteriously absent. I hope it crawled back into whatever hole it was birthed from.
I’d tried to kiss him and he’d jerked back from me.
God, someone shoot me now.
I couldn’t look at him. Could not do it. Not even when he said my name.
“How are you feeling?” he asked when I didn’t answer.
Lifting one shoulder, I studied my purple toenail polish. “Like crud.”
“I have a cure for that.”
What? A semiautomatic weapon?
“We’re going to indulge in the official breakfast of champions for hangovers.”
Brows knitting, I lifted my head. He was grinning at me like I hadn’t gotten trashed the night before and tried to molest him. “What?”
“Waffle House.”
I stared at him, blinking slowly, and then I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat under the makeup I wore. “I don’t want to eat. I don’t even want to think about food.”
“You think that now, but trust me, the grease will do wonders for your stomach. I know. Have had a lot of practice at it.”
Shaking my head, I stood, now staring at the window. “I really think I just need to go back and take an eight-hour nap before I head into the bar tonight. And I think you need to leave. Not to be rude—”
“Don’t do this,” he said, and he was right beside me. I hadn’t even heard him move. “Don’t, Calla.”
My gaze shifted to his chest. How could he look good in the same damn shirt he’d slept in last night? I wanted to scream it wasn’t fair. “Don’t what?”
“Be embarrassed,” he said softly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, wrinkling my nose. “Easy for you to say.”
“Nothing’s easy for me to say. You have no reason to be embarrassed. You drank last night. You had fun, or at least you did up until you got sick—”
“Thanks for reminding me of that,” I groused.
“It’s common. Hell, do you know how many times I’ve found myself curled around a toilet swearing I’d never drink again? You don’t even want to know the horror stories I could share.”
But I bet he’d never tried to kiss a girl and gotten rejected, either.
“Calla, look at me.”
Hell to the no. “Like I said, I’m really tired and could really go for a nap.” Or a lobotomy. “So, if I could do that, it would be great.”
“Honey, don’t.” Two fingers curved around my chin, and there was no fighting when he lifted my gaze to his. I sucked in a breath, feeling a little dizzy again, and I wondered if there was still some tequila in my system. “You’re not going to listen to me, so this calls for drastic measures.”
I opened my mouth, but then Jax stepped back, dropping his fingers. Maybe a second passed and he dipped down. Before I could move or process what he was doing, he slipped one arm behind my knees and the other around my waist, and I was suddenly in the air, pressed against his chest.
“What the hell?” I shouted, grabbing on to his shoulders as he turned around. “What are you doing?”
Looking down at me, he took a deep breath. “When I was fourteen, I drank beer for the first time. Drank way too much at a buddy’s house and spent the entire night circling the toilet.”
I glanced around the bedroom. “Okay.”
“Did that so many times when I was kid, you’d think I’d learned my lesson,” he continued, watching me. “Then when I got back from overseas, some nights whiskey was all that got me to close my eyes for a few hours.”
My body stiffened even more. Whiskey. God, I hated whiskey, but I really wasn’t thinking about my mom. I couldn’t imagine the kind of things that kept him awake at night.
“Even when I came here, it was a whiskey and . . . well, anyway, the point is, I’ve spent many nights and days regretting what I did. But what you did last night and even though you feel like shit right now, you didn’t do a damn thing you need to regret.”
Deep in my chest, my heart clenched as our eyes locked. “What . . . what else did you do?”
Something flickered over his features, and he shook his head. “Let’s get going.”
I frowned at the abrupt change of topic. “Where?”
“Taking you to Waffle House.”
“You don’t have to carry me!”
He grinned down at me. “And you don’t have to shout.”
“Put me down!” I shouted again, making my own temples pound.
Ignoring me, he headed for the door and then stopped, backtracking to the kitchen. “Grab your keys and sunglasses. You’re going to need both.”
I glared at him and he grinned at me. “Jax, come on.”
He lowered his head, speaking in a low voice that caused my toes to curl. “Honey, you can argue and shout all you want, but I’m still going to carry your ass out to that truck, put you in it, and we’re going to Waffle House, and you will eat fried eggs, bacon, and a goddamn waffle.”