‘You’re bossy,’ I complain. ‘I want to go home.’ I actually don’t know what I want to do. Does it matter where I sleep tonight? No, it doesn’t, but my drunken need to remain defiant is hijacking any reasonableness that’s left in my wine drenched brain. I want to go home and that’s it!
He laughs. ‘Get use to it.’
‘No!’ I flop my head back on the head rest and close my eyes. I understood that statement enough to challenge it. I’m surprised I’m still coherent.
‘You’re adorable, but you’re also a pain in the arse when you’re drunk.’ he grumbles.
‘Good.’ I say haughtily.
He starts the car and the vibrations from the engine instantly play havoc with my wine filled stomach. I hear him laugh to himself.
‘Jesse?’
‘Yes, Ava?’
‘How old are you?’ What a ridiculous question. Even if he did relent on this obsession with keeping his age a classified, I wouldn’t remember in the morning.
He sighs. ‘Twenty five,’
I really am very drunk and car spin is beginning to set in, even though my eyes are closed. ‘It doesn’t matter how old you are.’ I mumble.
‘It doesn’t?’
‘No, it doesn’t. Nothing matters – I still love you.’
I hear a sharp intake of breath before I pass out.
Chapter 20
Ouch!
I squint at the bombardment of light that’s hammering at my sensitive eyes and snap them shut again. Oh, that hurts. Shuffling onto my side, I immediately realise that I’m not in my own bed. My eyes fly open, and I sit up. Oh, ouch!
My hands grip my head to try and ease the pain. It doesn’t work. Short of shooting my brain out, nothing is going to alleviate the thumping. This is a non-curable hangover. I know it.
I gaze around the room, recognising my surroundings immediately. I’m in the master suite of Lusso. Okay, I’m at a total loss at how I come to be here. I’ve never been so drunk that my memory has failed me. I try retracing my night, instantly remembering Jesse roughing up poor Cockney. Then I remember dancing. I also remember arguing with Jesse in the toilets. And then I remember dancing again. Oh, and I remember Tom having a hissy fit, but then…nothing.
I would ask myself how I come to be here, but I really don’t need to ask that question if Jesse was in the bar. I grasp the bedding, lifting the sheets to look under the covers. Well, I have my bra and pants on, so I can’t imagine any Jesse style fucking went down. I smile to myself.
Oh Lord, I need a toothbrush and some water, pronto. I gingerly push myself up, untangling myself from the bedding as I go, reveling in the waft of Jesse’s scent as it hits my nostrils. Every slight movement crashes into my poor head. When I’m on my feet, stood in just my underwear, I stagger. I’m still drunk.
‘And how is my lady lush this morning?’ His voice is smug. Why didn’t he stop me drinking? He saunters over to me, looking too fucking delicious in his tight, white boxer shorts and with his morning messy hair. I know I probably look awful, with my loose hair and crusty make-up.
‘Terrible.’ I confess moodily. Was that me speaking? I’m throaty. I hear him chuckle to himself. If I could coordinate my movements, I would swing at him. I feel his arms wrap around me, and I’m thankful for the support. I bury my head in his chest and could, quite easily, drift back off to sleep.
‘Do you want some breakfast?’ he asks, stroking my hair. Even his soft rubs against my skull are unbearably loud, and I nearly vomit at the thought of food. He must feel my dry heaves and body jerks because he laughs again. ‘Just some water then?’
‘Please.’ I mumble into his chest.
‘Come here.’ He scoops me up and carries me downstairs to the kitchen, placing me on the worktop gently.
‘Oh!’ Shit, that’s cold!
He laughs, easing his grip away slowly, like he’s afraid I might fall off. I might do, I feel God awful. I grab the edge of the worktop to steady myself and watch, through half open eyes, as Jesse opens almost every cupboard in the kitchen before he finds the one with the glasses in.