He’s silent for a moment. “I think we just touched a little and passed out,” he finally says. His rough hands are dragging up and down against the expanse of my back as if they are trying to remember.
“What happened to no touching?” I croak, asking about last night, and perhaps right now, feeling nauseous about the impending answer.
“Too late,” he says simply. “Pandora’s box.” As if that’s the answer and that’s all he needs to say about this.
We’re quiet for a while.
“Can I touch you now?” he asks then, shifting his thigh up so it rubs against my clothed pussy.
“Yes,” I sigh, or maybe beg.
He pulls back a little, like he doesn’t know where he wants to start, hyper aware of all these new parts of my body. I feel the same way. I have no idea where to start.
“You have to tell me what you like,” he murmurs.
“I just want you to touch me,” I breathe.
“Not specific enough, but you’ll get a pass for this lesson.” His fingers start at my mouth, tracing the outline of my lips. They move down, so gently, down my neck, across my collarbone, before finally cupping my breast in his giant hand. He groans, a small sound. “Look at these. Perfect,” he murmurs with reverence. “Looks like I’ll have to make new memories,” he says, rubbing his thumb in slow circles around my nipple, and I shiver with pleasure.
I’m about to touch Elias myself, finally feel the sandpaper of his stubble against my hand, the softness of his mouth, when I’m surprised by a second wave of sudden, genuine nausea. My body locks up. I rip myself away from Elias, and I make it to the bathroom just in time for me to projectile into the toilet.
What feels like gallons of beer empty out of me, my eyes tearing up with the force.Nooo, I think I moan.
Out of the corner of my eye, with my head buried in the toilet, I see Elias walk into the bathroom in just his boxers, half-hard erection tenting the fabric. He walks over to me and gently pulls my hair back, away from my face, just in time for a fresh wave of spew.
“I’m sorry,” I think I say, not sure what I’m referring to.
“I’m not, Gorgeous,” I think he says, kissing my shoulder.
Eventually, maybe minutes or hours later, I run dry. Elias helps me brush my teeth and gargle mouthwash, then half carries me back to bed. He deposits two painkillers in my hand, along with a full bottle of water.
“Take these and finish the water,” he tells me, and I do as I’m told. He tucks me in again, brushing his lips against mine. Our first kiss, at least one I remember, and it happens immediately post-vomit. “Sleep,” he says, and I do.
THIRTEEN
Elias
Regardless of myhangover from hell, I somehow find myself taking notes at the first workshop of the day, the fuckingtwo hourlong one circled on Mia’s schedule. By hand, mind you, because Mia’s laptop is too slow for me to type anything at all. This fucking workshop is calledFrom Theory to Practice: Implementing Successful Project-Based Learning in Diverse Classrooms, and I can barely read my own handwriting through the headache stabbing through my eyes.
I’m telling myself that I’m doing this for a distraction, and nothing more. I don’t want to think about it. After I fucked it all up, broke all sorts of vows and promises and crossed all sorts of ethical lines.
I mean, I can’t even blame Drunk Me, considering how fucking sexy Mia looked yesterday, with that sad excuse for a dress and the man-eating look in her eyes that completely wrecked me and kicked my ass. Drunk Me was doing what Sober Me has wanted to do for over a week. But Sober Me is very upset that we don’t remember any of it, save for a few flashes of blonde and pink, a faint memory of soft skin against my mouth and my hands. What the fuck, Drunk Me?
But I’m a little bit pleased with Drunk Me, because he’s opened Pandora’s Box, and it’s too late to go back, and now that it’s opened, no one can fucking stop me. Either of us.
At least until tomorrow. We’ll do this through tomorrow, when we leave this beautiful little New Orleans bubble and return to our harsh realities, filled with best friends and brothers and Blonde Brigades and soft looking emo dudes named Adam. I’m giving myself a pass until tomorrow.
But who am I fucking kidding?
I can’t cross the line if I keep pushing the line away.
This Dr. Whoever finally wraps up his speech, the applause he’s getting drilling holes into my brain. I stand slowly, so I don’t jostle my head more than it needs to be, and glide over to the table to grab all the pamphlets and flyers and a copy of the slide deck, shoving them in my pocket along with my notes.
Next is food. We must feed our hangovers.
I stumble outside (so bright) and find a place that will do a hot muffuletta. Melty cheese will always save the day. Thankfully, there’s a place a block away, and while waiting for it to be heated, I grab sodas and chips.
Back in our hotel, I drag my feet through the lobby. Stacy with the eyelashes is there.
