Twenty-One
It was about an hour after I got Avery to cover up with a blanket that everything she drank decided to make a reappearance.
Throwing aside the quilt I had wrapped her in like it was covered in snakes, she tore through the living room, making a beeline for the bathroom. I followed quickly, expecting this, considering she didn’t normally drink.
It was terrible.
Unable to do anything more than hold her hair and rub her back while she prayed to the porcelain gods, I’d never felt more helpless. When it was finally over, I propped her against the bathtub and grabbed a damp cloth. It was just like when she had been sick, except this time around, she was actually conscious.
“Feel better?” I asked.
“Kinda.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh God, this is so embarrassing.”
I laughed under my breath. “It’s nothing, sweetheart.”
“This is why you stayed, right?” She moaned pitifully. “You knew I was going to be sick and here I was, taking off my clothes.”
“Shh.” I brushed the loose strands of hair back from her face. “As charming as it was to watch you vomit up your guts, that’s not why I stayed and you know it.”
Her eyes drifted shut again. “Because you want me, but not when I’m drunk and puking all over the place?”
I let out a loud laugh. Intoxicated Avery was a funny Avery. “Yeah, you know, that sounds about right.”
“Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
“We’re not.”
One eye opened. “Ha.”
“Thought you’d like that.” I moved the cloth under her chin.
She smiled slightly. “You’re very . . . good at this.”
“Had a lot of practice.” Tossing the towel aside, I grabbed a new one and started all over. “Been where you are quite a few times.” I brought the towel down her neck and over her arms, willing my gaze to stay on her face and not stray to the swells of her breasts so beautifully on display. “Want to get ready for bed?”
She stared at me with sudden wide eyes.
I grinned.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Oh,” she murmured, looking chagrined.
“Yeah, oh.” I turned and grabbed a toothbrush. Loading it with paste, I faced her. “Thought you’d want to get the taste out of your mouth.”
“You are wonderful,” she said, reaching for it.
“I know.” When she was all done, I knelt again and unzipped my hoodie. Taking it off, I grabbed the hem of my shirt to slip it over my head. “I’ve been trying to get you to say I’m wonderful from the first time you plowed into me. If I’d known that all it would take was handing you a toothbrush, I would have done that a long time ago. My loss.”
“No. It was my . . .” She managed to sit up straighter. “My loss—what are you doing?”
“I don’t know where your clothes are.” Which was a lie. I’d found her clothes before.
“Uh-huh.”
I grinned as I watched her gaze move over my chest, fixing on my tattoo. “And I figured you’d want to get out of your clothes.”
“Yeah,” she murmured.