“Maybe, when he was getting all his parts, he traded it for a paintbrush. Your face, it’s...it’s like art.”
She’s sitting beside me on the bed now, and she laughs again.Violins and waves.She gets up, walking to the end of the bed, and taking off my boots.
“Oh shit, they’re back. I thought for sure you’d have to chase them down.” Macy just smiles and continues to loosen the laces on my boots.
“I have something to tell you.” She says in a quiet voice.
“Let ‘er rip tater chip. I’m all ears.”
She laughs again.Man, I am on a biscuit. A biscuit. I am on a wheel. Roll? Am I high?I’ve never been high, but I’m almost certain that the stubble on my face is mapping out the steps to the Macarena, and that doesn’t seem right, so I think I might be high.
“I think I’ll wait and tell you tomorrow. Something tells me that all divulgence of information tonight will be wasted.”
I yawn loudly and scare myself. Macy laughs again when I’m startled. “Macy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love me yet?”
Macy stills. She isn’t facing me. She’s sitting beside me on the bed again, and only her profile is visible. Her face changes.She’s sad. Something else, too. Regret? Or guilt, possibly. Did I do that?Thoughts are coming so slowly, and I’m uncertain of all of them.
“Not yet.” She says it with a sadly placating lilt to her tone.
I yawn loudly again. “You will. Give it time. We probably shouldn’t have moved in together until you loved me, though.”
It smells different in here. Maybe it’s this puddle of what I hope is my drool.This definitely isn’t my bedroom. Shit. What did I do? Please tell me I didn’t go home with someone.My elbows protest as I lift up to look around. This is definitely a woman’s bedroom. The style is eclectic. It’s all bright colors and femininity. I don’t even remember this girl’s name.That’s not going to go well. Is she even here?
I sit up on the side of the bed, and my brain wars with my skull for dominance in an epic battle of wills.Ah hell. What did I drink? What do I remember?Scanning my memories, there are only scraps of information.They kept calling. I left my phone at home and walked to...the Cornerstone. Yeah. I went to Cornerstone. The girl. Macy. She was so beautiful. Then, there was Paul Walker...Paul Walker? No. The pretty boy. The ex-boyfriend. Ah shit. I roofied myself. Is this her apartment?
“Good morning, soldier.”
The voice is beautiful. Sexy. Almost harsh but still feminine. The vibrations in the air, however, rattle my brain to the point of combustion. “Not...so loud. My head may actually combust.”
Macy laughs under her breath and comes over to sit beside me on the bed. I peek over at her from between my fingers, and she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Think this is amusing, do you?”
She whispers softly. “I do. I find your predicament quite comical, considering that you knowingly did this to yourself.”
“This is your fault. You left me no choice.”
Her eyes widen, and dark brows shoot to her hairline. “My fault? How did I leave you no choice?”
I scrub my face with both hands, attempting to wipe away this stage five clinger of a hangover before speaking again. “You refused to acknowledge that I’m your soulmate. Desperate times. Desperate measures. All that shit.”
She’s quiet, but her laughter shakes the mattress beneath us. “What’s the last thing you remember from last night?”
I sift through the blur of memories I’ve been piecing together from the previous night and it’s far worse than I imagined.I remember...Ugh, I remember riding bitch. I rode bitch the whole way here and I didn’t even have a helmet to hide my face.My face drops into my hands. “I remember riding bitch...the whole way here...without a helmet.”
She laughs louder at my admission, and my skull rattles. “Yeah. You were upset about that last night, too. So, you don’t remember being carried up the stairs?”
I whip my head in her direction. It would’ve taken at least two men to carry me upstairs.What men were here? If it’s that pansy ex of hers from the bar, he has run out of pardons. I’ll be kicking his ass.“Who the fuck carried me?”
Macy looks at me like I’ve offended her. “I did”, she says, exasperated.
I laugh, and my head throbs. “Damn it, Macy! Don’t make me laugh. There’s a rock band in my head, and they suck.”
She must decide to overlook my disbelief that she’s physically capable of carrying me anywhere, much less up a flight of stairs, because she changes the subject. “I told you last night that there was something I needed to tell you today. I wasn’t sure if you would remember.”
She looks at me, assessing my expression for I’m not sure what. I say nothing, and give her space to continue. “I work in a bar. I’m surrounded by drunk men constantly, and I’m a young, single female.”
