Killing Me Softly(A Broken Souls Series)

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” No I’m not! “We’re taking this slow.” Like HELL!

He kisses me and wipes my lip with his finger. “Come on beautiful, time to go fight the guys off you.”

“Whatever.”

“That was AMAZEBALLS!” Bethany yells over the music as Tate and I walk over to the group.

The table is filled with empty beer bottles and mixed drink glasses. The waitress is on her way over with a tray of shots. She sets it down and the guys all hand the waitress money. They set a shot in front of us too.

“On the count of THREE we all drink at once!” Tracey yells.

Tequila. No salt. No lemon. Cruel.

“Ugh, that was tequila!” I say and set the shot glass down.

“That was eighteen hundred, smooth as hell,” Don announces. “You were great tonight, thanks for having us come out. Man you’ve been holding out, you sounded awesome. She brings out the singer in you.”

Who me? He was singing pretty fantastic at the bookstore the night I met him.

People start to walk over, and telling us how good we were. A couple of girls try to flirt with him, but Bethany and her drunk-self let them know he is taken. Drinks are being sent over from people who saw us sing. It isn’t long before I’m feeling a little more than buzzed by the way my face is numb and I want to dance. Bethany and I hit the dance floor, stumbling around as we attempted to dance. Tracey comes out and she puts us to shame with her inner JLO. She’s bumping her ass up and down like a professional twerker. If I were sober, I’d be embarrassed.

A guy who resembles one the guys from Jersey Shore comes over and asks if I want to dance. I tell him I’m already dancing. He asks if I want to dance with him. I tell him as nice as possible that I’m happier dancing with my friends. He walks away muttering under his breath. A new Flo Rider song comes on and Tracey squeals out that we are staying on the dance floor. The Jersey Shore guy comes back, this time with two beers in his hand. He goes to hand me the beer but I shake my head no. He’s saying something to me but I weave my way to the other side of Bethany. The guy dances his way over to me and I shake my head no at him again. Before he has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s being grabbed by the back of his shirt.

“She said she didn’t want to dance with you, now leave her alone!” Tate shouts. I’ve never seen this side of him, the jealous side. If I have to be honest, it’s sweet to have a guy come to my rescue.

“You don’t know what she wants. You weren’t over here,” the guy slurs.

“She’s my girlfriend, and I watched her say no to you. Now be a man and walk away!”

“What are you going to do? Huh?” The drunk chides.

At the moment when Tate is about to punch the guy, Don grabs his hand. “He’s a punk-ass, don’t waist a good punch on a dick.”

A good punch?

“Let’s go, we have the limo for the night. Anyone up to going to Sonic for some food?” Don asks our table as we all come off the dance floor.

No, I want to go back to what we were doing on the couch in the Green Room.

Tate and one of the bouncers ran up to get his guitar. We stayed as long as the contract said we had to and left.

***

Tracey makes a fresh batch of margaritas as soon as we get to the house. The guys stopped at a gas station and picked up cigars and beer.

“What’s going on with you and Tate? I thought it was just for fun that first time you came over. Now we never see him, because he’s with you,” Tracey says and points at me. The drinking has caught up to her. She’s holding onto the granite counter top for balance.

I’m buzzed and eager to keep my buzz going so I drink a margarita. My taste buds are dead from the shot of tequila we had earlier, so I’m immune to the tequila flavor. “Tate and I are just having fun. We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow? You call the way the two of you look at each other slow? Girl you’re funny.” Tracey finishes off her drink and pours another one. She forgot to salt the rim of the glass and she’s failing miserably as she tries to pour salt on the rim.

“We look at each other like anyone else who’s in a relationship,” I shrug and sip on my drink. Without warning, Tate’s crossed the room and his arms are around me.

“See, just like I said, you two are in this deep. Like shit, deeeeeeep shhhhhh iiiit,” She’s slurring so bad, she doesn’t make any sense.

“Tracey, are you drunk?” Tate asks.

“I’m not drunk. You ever seen me drunk? I’m a drinking….machine,” Tracey says as she stumbles across the room to the couch.

Tate kisses the top of my head. “The limo’s still here, do you want him to take you home?”

“No, I called my dad, he’s fine. He’s taking some kind of miracle medicine and he’s halfway normal now.” His shirt smells like a cigar, but I snuggle into his chest anyway. “Do you know how to play Seven? Let’s go play it!” Suddenly, Seven sounds like the best game EVER.

***

Why is it so damn bright in here? I try to roll over but the weight of someone’s arm is across me. He pulls me in tight. I ease back into him and he pulls me in tighter.

OH SHIT! AM I NAKED? I have no memory of going to bed. Please don’t let me have had sex with him and not remember. At least if I lose my reclaimed virginity, I want to remember that shit. MY DAD! CRAP, I LEFT HIM ALONE! I move my hand to touch my boobs, I have my bra on. My panties are on too. I nonchalantly move my hand to check if he has pants on. He does. We still could have had sex and I put my stuff back on. My bladder screams for me to wake up. I wiggle out from under his arm and sit up. Oh God! Sitting up was a dumb idea. My stomach gurgles. I’m going to barf. Don’t barf. Yeah, that’s not working. I leap up from the bed and stumble to the bathroom where I puke my guts up.

“Holl, you okay?” Tate asks.

“Not so much,” I whimper. I didn’t have time to lock the door. The doorknob turns and here I am in all my barfing glory, head in a toilet, wearing only a bra and panties. His hand is on my back , caressing it as I heave in the toilet. Go away! This is not sexy.

Tate rustles around in a cabinet. He turns on the water for a total of five seconds. Something cold and wet is on the back of my neck. No one other than Andy has nursed my hangovers and no one but Andy has nursed me at all since I was thirteen. I close my eyes at the memory of my mom holding a cold rag to my forehead when I had a fever. She was beautiful in that country girl way. Her hair was light brown that would turn dark blonde in the summer. She only wore make-up to work and scrubbed her face clean when she got home. I loved her so much, she was kind and we baked cookies together. I’ve suppressed these thoughts of her for years, I replaced them with anger. I’ve thought of her as weak and selfish for leaving her young daughter and sick husband. Hangovers have always made me sentimental and weepy, this one is no different.

“Tate, you don’t have to be in here. This isn’t the image I want you to take with you on your TDY thing.”

He chuckles. “Holland, all images of you are beautiful to me. Even hung over Holland is sexy. You were pretty sexy in the bed last night.”

Oh shit! “Did we have sex?” I say barely audible.

“Wow, I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. “I’m sorry, I don’t drink very often and it was the tequila and…”