I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and pulled on some clothes before walking back into the room.
“Thank God. I have to use the bathroom so bad,” she said, sitting up and throwing the blankets back. She wasn’t wearing the clothes she had on when I put her to bed, though. She had nothing on but a t-shirt and a pair of pink panties. She gasped and yanked the blanket back up to her waist. “Did you change my clothes last night?”
“No!” I said quickly. “When I put you to bed, you still had on your jeans that were covered in puke. The only thing I took off was your boots.”
I thought she’d accuse me, but instead, she just got quiet as she stared at the wall. “Is it possible that I got up last night and changed my clothes, and I just don’t remember?” She looked up at me.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a drunk person did something they didn’t remember.”
She groaned as she yanked at the sheet. Once it was ripped free, she wrapped it around her waist and rushed to the bathroom. She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her, and half the sheet was still in the room, trapped underneath the door.
Shaking my head, I sat down to put on my shoes, but I stopped when I realized they were covered in dried vomit.
“Fuck my life,” I groaned.
After a few minutes, the bathroom door opened, and she came walking back, dragging that big ass sheet behind her until she flopped back into bed. I took my boots to the bathroom and rinsed them off with the handheld showerhead. I wiped them dry and then pulled them on.
“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked, gathering my wallet and busted phone from the table where I left them.
“Whatever,” she mumbled with her eyes closed as she tried to go back to sleep.
I grabbed the Tylenol from her bag and tossed the bottle onto the bed. “Take two of those and drink some water—hangovers are mostly dehydration. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I locked the door behind me and climbed behind the wheel.
I thought we were in a small town, but it turned out we were just on the edge of a smaller city. I only drove a couple of miles down the road before everything started to change. Roads widened and smoothed, the speed limit rose, and then I started seeing all the businesses. There were gas stations, stores, and restaurants. I ran through a McDonald’s drive-thru and headed back toward the motel once I had some food.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Amelia the entire way. How pretty she was. How pathetic I was. How soft the brief brush ofher lips had been against mine. Just thinking about her made my dick hard.
I had to get myself sorted. I returned to the motel and took a few moments in the parking lot to calm myself.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Wake up,” I said, walking into the room.
She was still in bed with her arm thrown over her eyes. She didn’t move, but she groaned.
“We have to check out in a couple of hours, so we have to get you moving.” I sat on the bed and dug into the bag. “I got you a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and a hash brown.”
She lifted her arm so she could see, then she took the hash brown from my hand and took a big bite, letting her arm fall back over her eyes.
I chuckled and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV.
I flipped through the channels until I found a local news station, watching as I ate.
When she finished, she had a little more color in her cheeks and was able to get up and shower. I picked up the room while she was getting cleaned up, and I packed up what little stuff we had. She exited the bathroom a little while later.
“Can we just stay here another night?” she asked, flopping down onto the bed.
The chair I was sitting in had wheels, so I wheeled myself to the foot of the bed and picked up her foot to put on her boot that I’d already cleaned. I rested her foot on my thigh as I worked on loosening the laces. When I glanced up at her, I found her blue eyes watching my every move.
“We need to hit the road, but you just have to get into the car. You can sleep while I drive.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Her question threw me off for a moment, so I just studied her expression. Two lines had formed between her brows as she looked at me with confusion.
“Doing what?” I asked, picking up her other foot to put in her other shoe.
“Why are you taking care of me? You put my shoes on for me, you carried me to bed last night, and I remember seeing you at the bar. You were watching me, but not in a-a flirtatious way. It was in a, um, protective way. I-I was with my ex for years, and he never did all of these things for me. You don’t even know me, not really. So, why are you doing this?” The look on her pretty face told me she was truly confused.
