I smiled, wishing he could do to me what he did last night . . . Then my stomach lurched and I thought I might lose it in bed. No, no sexy time tonight. Breathing loudly through my mouth, I whimpered, “I think I’m going to be sick again.”
Kellan’s voice was calming as he told me, “No, you’re not, sweetheart. You just need something else to focus on besides your stomach. Would you like it if I sang you to sleep?”
My grin was huge as I clenched my tummy tight. “I would love that,” I told him.
A minute later, I could hear Kellan’s guitar. Then his voice filled my ear, and Kellan started performing an acoustic set of all of my favorite D-Bags songs . . . just for me. The sensuous sound eased the distress in my belly, and my stomach suddenly felt a million times better. I wanted to listen to him all night long, but I succumbed to sleep and alcohol and nodded off into oblivion.
Chapter 6
Girl Time
I was parched when I woke up. Parched and confused. I couldn’t remember leaving the bar. I remembered imbibing way too many drinks last night, then I remembered dancing to the band’s music . . . but I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten home. God, I really hoped I hadn’t driven home. Kellan would be furious with me. I would be furious with me.
Thinking of Kellan sparked a vague memory of him singing to me, of the light twang of his guitar lulling me to sleep. I had no idea if that was a real memory, or if I’d dreamed it. It was peaceful, though, and I smiled as I rolled onto my back.
My stomach didn’t like that—my head either.
I groaned and curled myself into a ball. I felt like I’d been brought back from the brink of death, and I silently swore to never drink again. I heard the sounds of someone else in the house and alarm shot through me. Who was here? I relaxed as I realized that Anna must have driven me home last night. There was no way she would have let me drive drunk.
Feeling disgusting, I made myself get out of bed. I just wanted to take a shower. I smelled like vomit. I stumbled a couple of steps as I yanked off my red Pete’s shirt. Begging my stomach to stay at a tolerable level of nausea, I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down. I had to steady myself against the wall to kick them across the room, toward the general vicinity of the laundry basket. Seeing hard strands of dried gunk in my hair, I groaned again. So gross.
I could hear my sister clunking up the steps as I unfastened my bra. I flicked it toward the basket and prayed that she was bringing me a glass of water—I desperately needed one. I tried to shimmy out of my underwear and flick them into the laundry, but part of the fabric got stuck under my foot. Too tired and sick to be coordinated, I lost my balance and fell on my ass. Hard.
As I let out a loud curse, my bedroom door rapidly swung open.
“Anna!” I exclaimed. Surprised and embarrassed, I tried to cover myself with my hands. “You’re just as bad about knocking as Griffin! I’m not dress—”
I stopped talking as I stared up at the person standing in my doorway. It was not my sister. It wasn’t a girl at all. “Denny? What are you—”
Denny’s face was bright red and he immediately averted his eyes from my naked body. I felt red-hot. Oh my God, I’m such an idiot. Definitely done with drinking. Memories flooded into my brain as Denny stammered an apology and closed my door. Anna hadn’t come to my rescue last night, Denny had. Anna hadn’t watched me get sick, Denny had. And Anna hadn’t tucked me into bed and stayed all night, just to make sure I was okay. Denny, my spectacular ex-boyfriend turned best friend, had done all of that. And I’d just flashed him. Damn it.
My stomach and head paling in comparison to my pride, I scrambled to my feet and grabbed a towel lying on the dresser. I opened the bedroom door and found Denny on the other side of it. He was still red, still not looking at me, but holding a glass of water in my direction. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You sounded like you needed help.”
I took the glass, grateful and mortified at the same time. “Thank you.” I inhaled the water, and Denny cautiously peeked over at me. He was still dressed in the clothes I vaguely remembered him wearing last night—nice slacks and a sharp dress shirt. There weren’t a lot of wrinkles in the shirt, so he must have taken it off before climbing into the lumpy futon that was in our spare room.
I handed him the empty glass, wishing I had more. Denny read my mind. “I have to go to work, but I’ll get you another one before I leave. How do you feel?”
I closed my eyes. “Really, really embarrassed.” I cracked one eye open. “I’m so sorry you walked in on that.”
A tiny smile lifted Denny’s lips, and he turned his head away from me. “I meant your stomach.”
The heat in my cheeks flamed a little hotter. Right. Duh. “Oh, um, much better . . . thank you.”