Kitty thundered back down the stairs a few minutes later in jeans, but no jacket.
“Aren’t you going to be cold?” The outlines of her tight, dark nipples were visible through that white t-shirt. I’d seen way more of Kitty than ever in my life, all in the span of fifteen minutes.
“I’m fine,” she protested with a shiver. I sighed and helped her into my jacket, then stepped us out on the porch and ordered a ride.
“You think I’m going with you? Don’t think I don’t know about you. Everyone knows what a player you are,” she spat.
“I’m a player, but you were about to show your ass and titties to a room full of fucking predators? How does that work?”
Her cheeks flamed hot. “Don’t slut shame me, Guy. And you were in that room, too. I can do what I want.”
“Well, don’t slut shame me, either! I can do what I want, too!”
“Fine, but you’re the one who made me stop and dragged meout of there. How is that letting me do what I want?” she yelled, then hiccuped. Okay, that was a fair argument. But I still didn’t like it.
“Because I love you and I don’t want something bad to happen to you!” I snapped. “You’re drunk and can’t make good decisions right now. Those guys were primed to take advantage of you.”
“Whatever,” she sniffed.
I almost questioned my decision to pull her out of there.
Almost.
A few seconds later, she puked into the bushes off the porch. I rushed over to hold back her hair. I was in for a long night.
Chapter 8
Kitty
I woke up with a throbbing headache, a mouth the texture of the Sahara, a criminally upset stomach, and unfamiliar surroundings. I turned over to see the one and only Guy Stelle asleep beside me.
I looked under the sheets. I was wearing not my sweatpants and not my shirt. Guy was also dressed, so at least there was that. I was against the wall, so I’d have to crawl over him to get out and pee and/or puke, whichever came first. I’d have preferred to run from the scene entirely and do those things in the peace of my own dorm suite.
As I was laying there trying to figure out my escape route, mybody forced the issue. I flopped over Guy like a fish on the dock and vomited into the trash can he had placed conveniently next to the bed. Guy sputtered awake, cussing in French. He held me in place by my hips as I hung almost upside down, puking. When I was done, he chuckled.
“Bonjour, ma puce.”
“Where’s your bathroom?” I squeaked.
“End of the hall. You need help?”
“No, no, I’ll get there.” I hurried out of the room with the dirty garbage can. I got myself and the trash can cleaned up and took a long, hard look in the mirror. I rolled the dice and used a random bottle of Listerine. Had Guy taken off my makeup? I looked surprisingly clean for someone who vomited a lot and didn’t remember much. I could just run, but I probably owed him at least a thank you for putting up with me.
Fuzzy memories came flooding back. Oh, God. I’d asked him to make love to me because he’s the love of my life. Not to fuck me. Not to have sex with me. I legitimately said “make love.”
Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no.
I walked back into his room. He had a glass of water, some pills, and a bottle of Pepto Bismol waiting for me on his desk.
I closed his door behind me and stood against it. “So, about last night,” I started.
“It’s fine. Come here, Kitty Bird,” Guy said, scooting against the wall in his bed and leaving room for me. I lay down next to him, facing in like we always did. He reached over me to his desk, pouring me a dose of Pepto Bismol. I took it, then he handed me two Ibuprofen.
“Drink up.” He held out the glass of water.
“Water is so harsh,” I groaned after I swallowed the sip that I could stomach.
He laughed. “Been there before.” I dropped back in the bed with him, facing in.
