And with that, I head out. Eager to find tacos and see Hud.
Seven
Hudson
I woke up around eleven to the sound of cheerful birds chirping and the bright sun pouring through the window above my bed, signaling a beautiful day ahead.
But it has to be all a sick joke because I feel like I’m in Hell, and I have no idea how I got here.
My mouth feels like cotton and tastes like a possum's ass. Throw in a heavy metal band giving a concert in my skull, and you’ve got one miserable bastard who can’t move out of bed.
The most I’ve managed to do is roll over and plug in my phone. It died sometime during the night, but luckily, my jeans were at the foot of the bed, and my phone was still tucked in a pocket. Once it had enough charge, I powered it on and saw Cull had called a couple of times. I messaged him back, requesting tacos. If there’s one thing I know about hangovers, it’s that grease is the magic cure.
Right now, I’m just wallowing in my misery, praying Cullen shows up soon. Maybe he can shed some light on what the hell happened last night, because my memory’s a gaping black hole. The last thing I remember is Ella and me spritzing his truck with perfume as a joke, but even that’s super fuzzy.
And honestly? I feel like a massive douchebag for pulling that stunt. Not knowing what happened after that is making my stomach churn, part hangover, part guilt. I thought if I could amplify the holes in their relationship, they’d get a clue. But I’m realizing that playing relationship god is not my place.
I sigh and scrunch my eyes shut, willing the nausea to pass. My mom came to check on me not long after I woke, but all I could manage was a thumbs up. She chuckled, kissed meon the head, and said, “Play dumb games, win stupid prizes.” If I weren’t toeing the line of death, I might’ve appreciated the snark. After that, she and my dad headed out to run errands, and I haven’t heard a single sound from Hadley. Honestly, the quiet is a blessing, though the drummer from Sleep Token is still going hard in my skull.
I must’ve passed out again, because the next thing I know, someone’s waving a foil-wrapped something under my nose. It smells suspiciously like a chicken taco from Rosa’s Taqueria. I crack open one eyelid, just one, because both would be way too painful.
I squint against the light and see a blurry angel standing next to my bed with a stupidly handsome smile. He’s backlit by the sun, grinning like he owns the room, and for a split second, I wonder if I died and went to the wrong kind of Heaven.
“Good morning, sunshine. You look like shit,” he grins, dragging my desk chair over and dropping down into it.
“Ifeellike shit. I’ve never had a hangover like this before,” I mumble.
“Maybe the tacos will help. I also brought Gatorade. Figured you could use the electrolytes.”
I do the grabby hands thing at the mention of cold liquids. Cull laughs, cracks open the bottle, and waits while I maneuver myself into something vaguely upright. He hands it over, and I drink steadily, careful not to piss off my already uneasy stomach. I get through about two-thirds before my thirst eases and my stomach starts to calm.
I hand the bottle back to Cull. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“No problem. Think you can handle one of these?” He holds up one of the wrapped tacos, and my stomach rumbles loudly.
He laughs. “I'll take that as a yes.”
Taking the offering, I unwrap it. “Any pico?” I ask hopefully.
Cullen gives me aduhlook and pulls out the salsa.
“You’re my hero,” I tell him seriously.
His ears turn bright red.Huh. That’s weird.But I don’t think much more of it as I bite into the taco, grease and seasoning dripping down my arm.
“Damn,” I mumble, my mouth full. “If this taco were a person, I’d marry it.”
Cullen snorts, hands me some napkins, then unwraps his own taco. “So, last night was weird,” he garbles around a mouthful of tortilla.
“Was it? I can’t remember shit.” I take another bite andfuck. I’ve never had sex, but I imagine it feels like this taco tastes. I look up to find Cullen assessing me a little too intensely. My skin prickles. I shift, suddenly unsure. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I miss something last night?”
He sets his food down, slowly rubbing his hands together. The self-consciousness fades away, replaced by unease. My heart pounds, more awake than I’ve felt all morning.
“You’re freaking me out, dude.”
“Sorry. I don’t know for sure, but after you said you don’t remember anything… it feels like a possibility.”
“What might be a possibility?”
