He wiped a hand over his sweaty face. “I was about to, but she said she isn’t feeling well and I–”
“I got this,” I told him. “I’m sure you weren’t half as concerned when you got her drunk as you are now.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t, I swear. I just brought some pizza and champagne over and–”
“Just go, man,” I said. “Just leave already.”
He frowned. “Okay.” He tried to look above my shoulders, but I blocked his view.
“Don’t test my patience,” I warned.
He raised his hands in surrender, and then, with a loud sigh, opened the door before walking away.
I clicked the locks in place, took my shoes and socks off at the entrance, turned off the music, and then turned around, only to curse and run over to Zaira. She’d puked on herself, and was looking at her chest like she didn’t know what exactly had happened.
I grabbed a small towel from the kitchen counter, wet it, and rushed back to her. “It’s okay, hmm?” I said when she kept glancing back-and-forth between me and her chest.
I bent, took her glasses off and placed them on the coffee table, wiped her mouth clean, and then tried to get as much puke off of her t-shirt as I could. Folding the now soiled towel, I set it on the floor. “Lift your arms,” I told her.
“You didn’t let me count Seth’s abs one more time,” she mumbled, and then lifted her arms.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head as I slowly pulled her t-shirt over her head. I walked back to the kitchen, threw both the t-shirt and the towel in the bin, and then returned to Zaira.
“Stand up, come on.” I helped her to her feet, and when one of her bra-covered breasts brushed against my forearm, I swallowed and tried not to get worked up about it.
It’s okay, Gallan, I told myself.It was just a slight touch; calm the fuck down. Don’t get your dick and hopes up like that. You’re a grown man. Act like it.
“Can I… Can I ask you a question, Galllll?” Zaira slurred.
I wrapped an arm around her waist and started walking us to her bedroom. “Yeah, of course.”
She smiled. “What starts with an ‘f’ and ends with ‘u-c-k’?” She beamed like she’d asked the most intellectual of questions.
“Uh…” I placed my phone, car keys, and wallet on her dressing table before stirring us away from her bed. “I don’t know what–” I stopped and barked ‘Fuck!’ when Zaira threw up all over my blue dress shirt.
“Firetruck – the answer isfiretruck,” she said, and then puked on me some more.
I inhaled sharply to prevent my nausea from growing, and then pushed her bathroom door open before turning on the lights.
Zaira leaned against the faucet, gargled, and then started brushing her teeth as I began unbuttoning my dirty shirt.
“You okay?” I asked her.
She kept her eyes on her reflection in the mirror as she nodded.
“You wanna puke again?”
She shook her head.
“Good.” I bunched my shirt. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I headed back to the kitchen, dumped my shirt in the bin, washed my hands in the sink, and filled a glass of water before taking it with me to the bathroom.
Zaira was sitting on the toilet lid and picking at a thread on her shorts, but looked up when I walked in.
“You thirsty?”
She nodded.
I opened the cabinet next to the bathroom mirror and pulled out a couple of anti-inflammatory tablets from a bottle, and a Tylenol from the other. “Here.” I handed the meds and glass of water to her.
