I chuckle. “It’s always rough the first time. It’s your twenty-first, a rite of passage.”
Somehow, in the last minute, I’ve managed to sink down onto the mattress beside her, my arms tucked around her, her face buried into my chest.
My fingers stroke the bare skin of her arms, and she shudders, suddenly picking up her head to peer up at me.
Her makeup is smudged, leaving dark circles beneath her eyes. But somehow, she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
It’s fucking terrifying how much I want her.
How much Ishouldn’twant her.
She’s fourteen—well, as of tonight… thirteen—years younger than me, a college girl who’s living the best years of her life.
And I’m a piece of shit that could never give her a fraction of what she’d deserve.
“Where am I?” she asks as she sinks back into my chest, burrowing her face into the fabric of my shirt.
“My apartment. You were snoring and swatted me away when I tried to get directions so I could take you home.”
Her response is another groan.
Suddenly, she’s out of my arms and scrambling toward the edge of the bed. “I think I’m going t?—”
The words don’t even make it out of her mouth before she’s falling to her hands and knees on the floor and heaving.
“Shit.” I scoop her up and run to the bathroom, depositing her onto the floor just in time for her to empty the entirety of what she drank tonight in the toilet.
I wind the ends of her long hair around my wrist and hold it back as she clutches the bowl and wretches.
“You’re alright. Just get it out,” I murmur, running my palm up and down her back softly.
She’s puking her guts up, and yet it’s still one of the most intimate moments I’ve ever had with another living person. Taking care of someone.
The realization hits me, and I stiffen slightly.
Maisie raises her head between heaves, her blue eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, a tear tracking down her cheek. “Please go away. I… I don’t want you to see me vomit, Wilder.”
I don’t move. Instead, I tighten my hand in her hair, the other brushing back a few loose golden strands that stick to her face.
“Little late for that,” I laugh, and she moans again, dropping her head down onto her forearm that’s resting on the rim of the toilet. “It’s just a little puke. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Yeah, can’t imagine how I look right now,” she responds dejectedly.
“Very hot.”
A soft laugh bubbles out of her, followed by a pained noise, and she rises on her knees as another wave hits her.
I end up on the floor beside her, my hands never leaving her until she finally sits back, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth and nose, sniffling. She leans back against the old bathtub and stares over at me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
She’s already falling asleep when I lift myself off the bathroom floor and scoop her into my arms again, carrying her back to the bed.
A soft whimper escapes her when I lay her on the mattress, but she’s out, the weariness of getting sick and the alcohol pulling her under.
I walk back to the bathroom and grab a washcloth from the cabinet, wetting it with some warm water. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve never done this before, taken care of anyone besides myself, and even then, I’m thirty-four years old, and I still don’t know how to do it the right way.
I just know I don’t want her to wake up in the morning with old puke and smeared makeup on her face, still in heels that have got to be hurting her feet.
I’ll make sure she’s good tonight, and then first thing when she wakes up, I’ll take her home. It’s the least I can do after, apparently, as her friend said, I almost ruined her twenty-first birthday. I know nothing else can come from this.
