Ben sits up instantly, frowning at me for context.
"I think...the drink Mara gave me," I mutter, swallowing bile and regret.
Why haven't I listened to him? Why did I drink that? This might be the most humiliating moment of my life.
I scan the room for anything to drop my head into, in case I don't make it outside.
Ben blinks, and I say nothing more before he's moving fast.Wolf's gone. Doctor Bellini activated. He's already rifling through a bag that shouldn't legally hold that many pharmaceutical items.
When he returns, he stands above me and tucks my breasts back into my clothes.
I blink at him, trying to process what just happened.
"Okay, take these," he commands, water bottle in one hand, pills, electrolytes, and gum in the other. "Then lie down on your left side. Don't drink the electrolytes yet. Only if you vomit—"
"Let's NOT say the word vomit, please," I pant.
My stomach somersaults in protest, or maybe it's just trying to eject itself into Mars. I hope I can come with it.
"I'll go get you ice chips," he says calmly, and gestures at the massive tent in his pants. "After he calms the hell down."
"No," I say fast. "Stay. Or I might die before you come back."
"Is this a good moment to tell you I told you so?" He shakes his head, then sits next to me to fold me into his arms.
He drags in a long breath, then another, like the first one didn't do the job.
For a while we sit here silently while I breathe through the last bits of nausea and brace for awkwardness—for him to shift away, or pull back.
I swallow hard, cheeks hot with shame, and murmur, "Are you angry with me?"
He pauses, brows knotted, face giving away that he's angry now that I asked him.
"Are you serious?"
I bite my lip, cross my arms. "Yeah?"
He snorts flatly. "I didn't bring you here to have my way with you."
"No?" It slips out, stupidly.
"No," he says, clipped and annoyed.
He shifts me aside, hands pulling the blanket down and fluffing the pillows. Remote in hand, he clicks the lanterns off one by one, leaving only the red stars on the ceiling.
Their light is soft, almost magical, but all I can think about is that we never got to finish what we started—because of me, again—and I nearly sigh, but my chest feels too heavy for it.
Ben strips his shirt off, and it takes flight across the room, landing straight in his bag with perfect aim.
My eyes widen when I catch his chest, bearing red scratches I must have left in my own heat. So much for subtlety. We really got carried away.
"Come here," he says, lying in the middle of the bed, and pulling me onto him. His hand nudges my jaw gently like I'm breakable. "Tilt your head like this. It'll help."
I do as he says, my hand on his chest hair, chin on his shoulder, and my breathing slows.
I get lost in his fingers tracing the same path through my hair, slow and rhythmic.
The world narrows to his warmth, his sweet breath in my ear like something borrowed from another life.
