He doesn’t wait for me to say anything or protest; he simply picks me up and places me into the seat. He secures my seatbelt and shuts me inside.
Once he slips into the car and pulls into traffic, we don’t say anything. The only sound is the dispatcher on his police radio and the sound of the heavy rain drops falling against his windshield.
At a red light, he looks over at me. “Did you go to work today?”
I don’t answer.
“Mia...” He sighs, turning down his radio. “I’m trying to be cordial with you. I think that’s the best the two of us can possibly do for the rest of this situation.”
I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.
My head is still being pulled in a million directions, and the motion of the car is making me feel sick.
Dean leans over and places his hand against my forehead. He gives me a look of sympathy and pulls over to the CVS at the corner. He parks the car and gets out, quickly going inside and returning with a few bags.
He hands me a bottle of water as he cranks the engine again. “Do you still take your coffee the same way?”
I nod and he pulls into a Starbucks drive thru. He orders my usual, a pike blend with toffee and hazelnut syrup, and lots of whipped cream.
I expect him to hand it to me, but he places it in a cup-holder and says, “Wait. I’ll give it to you when we get home.”
I lean against the car window for the rest of the ride home, and when we get there, he pulls me against his side and leads me to the elevator and up to our floor.
Walking me to my room, he opens the door and pulls back the sheets.
“Get in,” he says.
I stumble forward and fall face first onto the mattress.
“Jesus...” He sighs and lifts me up, placing me under the sheets himself. He sets my coffee on my night stand, and he takes out some of the things he bought at CVS as well: Three bottles of orange juice, Tylenol, and cool-packs for my forehead.
He readjusts my sheets and brushes hair off of my face. “Why were you at a bar and not at work?”
“I was having a bad day.”
“Since when do you drink on bad days? You paint on bad days.”
“People change.”
“We don’t.” His eyes are on mine. “At least not that much.” He turns on my lamp and turns off my alarm clock. “Regardless of the bad day, why didn’t you just stay home?”
“I locked myself out.”
“Then why didn’t you call?”
“Because I would’ve had to call you.” The liquor is still rushing through my veins. “I didn’t want to call you.”
“Because you hate me that much?”
I nod. “Because you hate me, too.”
Silence.
“Do you need anything else?” he asks.
“No.” I try to roll onto my side, but it doesn’t work.
Shaking his head, Dean grabs my hips and helps me. He leans down and looks at me, pressing his hand against my forehead once more, and I’m not sure what comes over me, but I press my forehead against his and kiss him. Thoroughly.
My arms go around his neck and I continue to kiss him because I suddenly have the urge, because I want to. And for some strange reason, I feel like I need to. My tongue slides against his and I moan into his mouth, but then I realize that he’s not kissing me back and my eyes widen.
Before I can pull away in complete embarrassment, he runs his fingers through my hair and kisses me harder than I was kissing him. His lips fit perfectly onto mine. It feels so good that I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming or not.
I don’t get a chance to figure out if I’m in reality or not because all of a sudden, I pass out.
Chapter 20
MIA
ERIC: Are you awake?
MIA: Barely...
ERIC: Is this your goddamn vomit on my kitchen floor? Is this from last night?
MIA: What? I don’t remember...
ERIC: [eye-roll emoji] I need for you to never drink alcohol again. At least, not while I’m gone to this conference this weekend. Can you promise me that?
MIA: It was just a one-time thing. Once. It won’t happen again.
ERIC: It better not. No parties either.
MIA: Really? :-( What about an orgy?
ERIC: Stop fucking with me, Mia. And add “orgy” to the list of words to never say to your brother.
MIA: Done deal. Have a safe trip :-)
At some point last night, I do remember stumbling into the kitchen—maybe vomiting, and then forcing myself to stand in the shower. I’m pretty sure I returned to bed naked, but when I woke up, I was wearing leggings and a cami, so I’m going to pretend like I got up randomly and did that myself. Since I have the apartment to myself this afternoon, I refuse to make any attempts to change into anything else until Monday, though.