I must have dozed off because one minute we were bumping along the road, and the next, Blossom was shaking me awake.
"We're home," she said, unhooking her seatbelt. "Don't move. I'm coming around to help you."
"I can walk," I muttered, fumbling with the belt. It wouldn't budge. I tugged angrily to get it loose. Great, I insisted I could walk but couldn't get out of the seatbelt.
Blossom opened my door and unsnapped the buckle with ease. She helped me out, and we slowly walked into the house.
"Are you going to be okay?" she asked as she escorted me down the hall.
"Take me to my bed, and I'll be fine."
In my room, she helped me undress, removed my shoes, and tucked me in.
"I'll check on you later."
"All right, my love," I whispered.
I sensed her standing over me but couldn't open my eyes. Being in bed seemed to have a dramatic effect on my ability to lift my lids. I simply couldn't, as if they were glued shut.
I sighed and finally fell asleep.
At almost midnight, I woke up, and as suspected, I had a headache. Now that I was safely in my own space, I replayed what had occurred.
I may have been high, but there was no denying what had happened between me and Jamison. I had almost kissed him over an almost empty platter of weed cake samples.
When he leaned in, I should have pulled back or made a joke to diffuse the situation, but the warm pressure of his thumb on my skin had hypnotized me, and my entire body had tingled with anticipation. With a clearer mind, I was mortified we had practically been caught in a compromising position.
I sat up and winced as the pounding in my head intensified. Shuffling into the bathroom, I stared bleary-eyed at my reflection, wearing only a bra and cotton underwear.
"You look a mess," I told my reflection.
I splashed cool water on my face to wake up and rinsed my mouth with clove water. Back in my room, I pulled on a pair of baggy shorts and an oversized shirt and padded down the hall to the kitchen. I was dying of thirst and starving.
Blossom was sitting at the table with her laptop and magazines spread out before her.
"Hey, Stoner, how are you feeling?" she asked.
I paused to glower at her and pointed with my forefinger. "Don't make jokes. I was an innocent victim."
I drank two glasses of water and tossed back a couple of magnesium pills to help with the headache. If they didn't eliminate the pain in an hour or so, I'd take something stronger.
"What are you working on?" I opened a can of sardines and mashed them on a plate. Though I was hungry, I didn't want to have to cook anything. Sardines with crackers and a piece of fruit should hold me until the morning.
"Doing a little planning," Blossom answered. "Manuel has a lot of family on both sides, and it seems as if every single one of them wants to come to the wedding."
"Can you accommodate them at the venue?" I asked.
"I think so," she said slowly, eyes glued to the computer screen. "We have a few logistical issues to work out, but the good news is Mr. Harris has agreed to pay for the rehearsal dinner, so that's one less expense we have to worry about."
She looked up as I walked over to the table with my food.
"Sardines, sourdough bread, and a peach. Quite the meal you have there," Blossom said.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying my discomfort."
"Only a little bit. It's kind of funny that some edibles kicked your butt like that."
"I have a low tolerance, which I learned when I was your age. The high is more intense for people like me, and so are the aftereffects."
