“Yeah you were,” He stretches out like a cat in the chair before he stands, adjusting the towel on his hips. I drop my eyes down wondering if he’s wearing anything underneath, and the thought stirs something hot, deep in my stomach, it’s enough to make my thighs ache and body react in a way it’s never done before.
His feet pad across the threadbare carpet before he places his knees on the bed and leans down close, curling his finger under my chin. I’m pretty sure my eyes are as wide as saucers right now and my cheeks as red as that punch from last night.
“How do you feel?” He asks, eyes bouncing between mine.
The headache thumps once at my temples, reminding me that it’s there, “Not great. What happened to your face?”
He purses his lips, “I’ll get you some water and breakfast. Wait here.”
His weight lifts from the mattress and then he’s gone, ignoring my question and disappears through a door, but I can still hear him as he opens and closes cupboards. I fidget with the sheets between my fingers, now alone I can look more freely.
Is this where he lives? There’s hardly any space here, the bed I’m on takes up most of the room with a two-drawer table to the side. The chair is the only other piece of furniture in here, and I can see the bathroom, a small box room with a shower, toilet and basin with not much space to move at all. I assume where he just disappeared into is the kitchen, but I have no idea exactly where we are. Are we in some part of town? Still close to the garage and track?
Fuck, the track. The punch…
I press my hand to my queasy stomach, feeling it churn with the memory. I was fine one minute and then the next I wasn’t, it was like the alcohol was a wall and I walked headfirst into it.
River returns, the towel now a little bit lower than where it was before, showing where that trail of hair leads to. And as I assumed previously, he’s not wearing underwear.
“Here,” He hands me a bottle of water, condensation making the plastic cold and wet, which I accept, opening it immediately.
I start chugging down the water like I haven’t had hydration in days.
“Easy,” River wraps his hand around the bottle, “Give your stomach a chance, you emptied it last night and you need to keep that water down.”
My eyes widen, “What do you mean?”
He cringes, “You vomited.”
“Oh god!” I cover my face with my hands, “How bad was it?”
“It wasn’t your fault, Marly,” He says gently, “I’m guessing you didn’t know the punch was spiked.”
I shake my head, face still hidden behind my palms.
“Don’t drink much?” He asks, his weight pressing down on the mattress, enough that I have to catch myself from falling into him.
“I don’t drink ever,” I sigh, dropping my hands into my lap.
“She should have warned you,” He pushes the plate of food toward me, “It won’t happen again.”
“She didn’t like me,” I shrug, picking up a piece of fruit from the plate, “I’m not entirely sure why.”
“Rach doesn’t like anyone,” River picks up a grape and pops it into his mouth before he stands.
I watch him move around the small space, gathering a pair of worn denim Levis and a white tank. And then he slips the jeans up his legs, no underwear and drops the towel. The button is still undone, showing parts of him I have no right to see.
I almost choke on the damn fruit in my mouth but quickly follow it down with some water.
“Eat,” His voice is filled with amusement, and I look up to see his back retreating into the bathroom.
I pick at the fruit on the plate and then nibble on the buttery toast before I finish the water, my stomach now settled some, but the headache still knocks at my temples. With enough to eat, I push myself back until I’m leaning on the wall and start to rub at my head, trying to relieve the ache.
I hear River come back into the room, “Go back to sleep, princess.”
“I should probably go,” I whisper.
“You got somewhere to be?”
