He finally steps to the side, but it’s not enough in the narrow passage.
“Move, move,” I hiss, trying to get myself upright.
I’m still weirdly bent in half because holding my head up feels practically impossible.
“What is wrong with you?” Declan growls. “You look like shit.”
My hand flies to my mouth as I stagger toward the open door.
It’s only a few feet to the bathroom, and then I’m praying to the porcelain Gods. Except, the toilet isn’t even a real onebecause I live on a freaking tour bus. At least they’re terrible at putting the toilet seat down; otherwise, I might not have made it. My foot flies to the pedal to flush, and once it’s done, I stumble over to the sink.
“Was it the twins?” Declan asks, shoving his way inside. “What did they give you?”
I glare at him in the mirror.
He’s just talking shit now.
I avoid everything that gets handed around backstage, and he knows it. I don’t even smoke with the guys because it makes me paranoid.
Taking the bottle of water he holds out, I finish rinsing my mouth. I vaguely wonder where he got it from, but I don’t actually care.
I’m splashing water on my face when Declan grips my shoulder, spinning me around.
His blue eyes stare into mine. “Are you hungover?”
“Get out,” I say, turning and grabbing my toothbrush.
I manage to get the toothpaste on it, but it doesn’t even make it inside my mouth before another strong wave of nausea hits.
Declan’s face is a mask of horror as I shove my toothbrush at him and twist just in time to puke again.
“Jesus Christ, Cove,” he growls. One huge hand pats my back while the other wraps my hair up, keeping it out of the way. “What is going on?”
Seriously?
Could my life get any more embarrassing? At this point, it seems unlikely.
My head pounds, and my vision is spotty. My throat and mouth burn from the stomach acid combined with the aftertaste of the pill.
“Please go.” I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
“Fuck no,” Declan says, rubbing circles over my back. “Did you catch a bug? Is that what this is?”
I flush the toilet and head back to the sink. I repeat the earlier process and hold my hand out for my toothbrush.
“Brushing right after being sick is terrible for the enamel of your teeth,” Declan says, handing me the toothbrush.
I flip him off as I shove the toothbrush into my mouth and get to work.
Declan and I aren’t friends. He doesn’t even like me. He’s made that clear over the last few months.
He’s here as our security, not to be our friend, and certainly not to hang out.
He’s said it over and over.
I used to have the biggest crush on him when I was growing up. The man is gorgeous, but he’s also a jerk, so that immediately negates the hotness factor.
“Get out,” I grumble around my toothbrush, pointing at the door like I do for my younger brothers when they aren’t getting the idea.
