Strong Enough(23)

When I’ve made my slow turn all the way back to Muse, I find her staring at me in her fuzzy, blurry way. “Jasper? What the hell?” she says quietly, almost uncertainly.

She’s trying to sound incensed, but I think she’s still lucid enough to have understood what just happened. And to know that I’m not a man to be pushed. Smart girl.

“If you’re ready, I’ll walk you back.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Oh, I think you are,” I tell her curtly, curling my fingers around her upper arm to help her off her stool.

“Wait, let me finish my drink,” she pleads, reaching for the half-full shot glass. She downs it quickly and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She makes a gun with her index finger and thumb, points it at me and winks. “Ready, Freddy.”

I say nothing as I escort her to the door. I’m only aware of the warm female body pressed to my side and the room full of skeptical eyes that follow us out.





ELEVEN


Muse

I rest my cheek against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. “The elevator did it,” I mumble to the base of the toilet in front of me.

“Did you say something?” comes Jasper’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door, which surprises me. I’ve been in here throwing up my guts for at least an hour. I thought he would’ve left by now, gone back to his side of the suite.

“No,” I moan miserably. Even to my ears, it sounds more like Nuhhh rather than an actual word.

“Muse?”

I don’t answer. I lie perfectly still, hoping he’ll think I passed out and then go away.

“Muse?” he calls again, louder. I don’t make a peep.

The door handle rattles threateningly. “Can I come in?”

“No!” I say with a little more vigor, but it’s too late. Before I even get the word out, I see black shoes stop a few inches from my nose.

I don’t bother moving. I just squeeze my eyes shut and pray he goes away. I’m in no shape to see Jasper. Or for Jasper to see me. I’m sure I smell like hell and look twice as bad.

When the nausea (and the countless shots of rum I had at that tavern) caught up to me, I was just stepping off the elevator. In my efforts not to soil the elevator car or the carpeting in the hallway, I tried to stop my regurgitation and ended up puking all down the front of my shirt. I ran in here and thanked the porcelain gods about six times before collapsing on the floor in front of the toilet. I haven’t moved since.

“So sexy,” I mutter to myself as I think of what kind of picture I painted for Jasper. Humiliating.

“What was that?” Jasper asks, his voice nearer my ear. I crack one eye and see his face. He’s squatting beside me, his expression curiously blank. As always.

“Nuthin,” I mutter as intelligibly as I can. “Goway.”

Just before I close my eyes again, I see his face disappear. I’m filled with relief that he’s listening. But then I hear the hiss of the shower spray coming on.

“Take a shur. Doh mine me,” I babble, shifting my head slightly to find a cool spot of tile again. But then I feel gentle hands slide under my chest and hips, lifting and rolling at the same time until I’m cradled against a hard chest. I tuck my face into the curve of his neck as the room spins uncontrollably. “No! Dohn moo me!” I squeeze my eyes shut.

I feel a slight jostle and then a floating sensation followed by the shock of lukewarm water hitting me in the side of the face. “Noooo!” I sputter.

Jasper never responds, he just slowly lowers my legs until I’m standing in the shower, facing him, still plastered to his front. Neither of us moves for a long time. Eventually, the room stops spinning and the water, neither cold nor hot, begins to soothe me.

I relax and Jasper, seemingly aware of the smallest details, senses it immediately. He nudges me backward, farther into the spray, and lifts his hands to push the hair away from my face. Tepid water spills onto my forehead, running over my eyes and mouth. I tip my chin up a little to increase the flow so that it trickles down my neck and chest, cooling my hot skin.

I stand like this for countless seconds until I feel hands at my waist. Jasper’s fingers curl into the hem of my T-shirt and start to pull it upward. My head levels and my eyes snap open, colliding with dark amber ones. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning you up. You smell like vomit. Stand still.”

My pulse trips up a notch, but I don’t argue. I’m too tired and too sick to care that much.

With a sigh, I gingerly raise my arms so as not to move too much as he tugs the soaked cotton over my head. I hear the wet slap of it hit the ceramic of the tub behind me. I keep my eyes closed as I lower my arms. Jasper’s movements are efficient yet surprisingly unobtrusive. I stand still, almost in a daze, as he tugs my yoga pants down my legs. I hold on to his shoulder as I step out of them, feeling better than I have since I left the tavern. The coolish shower was a good idea.