3
Ryder - Couches and Comfort
Iwalk into Denise’s place and she’s bent over on the couch with her head in a bucket. She looks up at me for a second, and she seems like she’s about to say something, but then she’s got her head back in the bucket, hair hanging dangerously close to the splash zone, the sounds of retching replacing the greeting she was about to offer me.
“Are you OK?” I walk over and look around on the coffee table before I see what I’m looking for. I grab the hair elastic and pull her hair up onto the top of her head before tying it into a weird ponytail/bun thing. Good thing I used to have long hair and know my way around a hair tie.
“Thanks,” she mumbles. “Can you pass me a tissue?” She gestures to the box on the coffee table.
I grab a tissue and wipe her mouth for her. “Can I get you something? Ginger ale? Crackers? Advil?” She must be hungover from whatever she and Andrew drank after they came back here last night. “Did someone have too much to drink last night?”
“Ha!” She laughs a little. “Nothing to drink, just sick. I think it’s just a delayed version of my typical ‘post tour’ illness. It’s been threatening since we got home and I guess it’s decided that now is the right time. And yeah, a ginger ale would be amazing. There’s some in the fridge I think.”
I go into the kitchen and grab her ginger ale, along with a cup of ice and a few crackers on a plate.
“Here you go,” I say, putting all the items onto the coffee table. “Want me to put something on TV for you?”
“Sure,” she says. “I was watchingThe Dirtlast night before I went to bed. Maybe just put that on so I can watch the rest of it.”
“Oh,The Dirt, hey? Got a thing for salacious rock star stories?” I tease while turning it on like she asked. “Can we start at the beginning? I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Um, sure, I guess so.” She sounds a little confused, but maybe that’s just because she’s talking into a bucket. It makes her voice sound a little strange. Like Darth Vader, but without all the heavy breathing.
I lean back on the couch and start the movie over at the beginning.
“Want me to rub your back a little? My dad used to do it when I was sick as a kid and it always helped me to feel better.” It’s probably not the best idea, considering I was coming to confess my love for her, but I should be able to control myself. The puke bucket isn’t exactly doing it for me. Vomit has never been one of my kinks.
She looks up at me, a question clear in her eyes. She probably wants me nowhere near her. I know she thinks I’m a man whore, even though it’s been years since I behaved that way. I suppose all the partying would lead someone to believe that I was still sleeping around though, so it’s not like I can blame her for thinking that, especially since it’s not exactly like I discourage it. I’m about to let her off the hook before she has to make up a reason for me not to touch her when she answers me.
“That would be nice, actually. Thanks Ryder.” She turns and looks at the screen and I reach my hand over, rubbing her back in soft circles.
She makes a little moan of appreciation which does things to my downstairs, and has me trying to adjust myself discreetly. I guess the puke bucket isn’t as much of a deterrent as I thought. I don’t stop rubbing her back, though. I’ve never had the chance to be this close before, and I’m not about to fuck it up now. I’ll rub her back until my arm falls off, if that’s the only way I get to keep touching her.
“So why did you come over?” Denise looks over at me, still holding onto her bucket. “You didn’t do something dumb last night that I’m going to have to deal with, did you?”
“No, not this time.” I laugh. “I actually just went home last night.” And drank an entire bottle of vodka by myself in the dark, but I’m not about to tell her that. I was coming to tell her how I feel, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. She’s sick. It’s just not the right time. “So where’s Andrew this morning? Why isn’t he here taking care of you?”
“Oh, yeah… you don’t have to stay.” She sounds disappointed. “I’ll be okay on my own.”
“Oh, no. I don’t mind being here for you at all.” There’s nowhere I’d rather be, actually. “I just figured he’d want to be here taking care of his sick girlfriend, is all. He probably wouldn’t appreciate me doing it in his place, anyway.”
She laughs a little. “He was here this morning just before you got here.” She reaches over and grabs her ginger ale, taking a small sip before continuing. “We had a fight last night, and I had him come over this morning so I could break up with him.”
WHAT?! This is the best news I’ve heard in ages. I barely stop myself from jumping up off the couch, pumping my fist in the air.
“Are you OK?” I try not to sound as excited as I feel. “What happened? You guys have been together for what, a year?”
“Ugh.” She puts her bucket down and leans back, effectively forcing my arm around her. Not that I’m not complaining. “I’m sure you’ve noticed all of his stupid whispering when we’re all together?”
I have noticed that. We all have. I just nod, encouraging her to continue.
“Well, he does that when he wants to leave early. Which is apparently all the time, because he has issues with who I spend my time with.”
I probably could have guessed that. The guy always seemed a little straight laced for the rest of us. Not a tattoo or piercing in sight. Hell, the guy could barely dress casually, always looking like he’s about to run off to a meeting at the office or go golfing with his lawyer or some shit.
“Not only that,” she adds, “he also doesn’t like the way I dress. He says it’s not feminine enough or some shit.”
“What?!” That surprises me. “You wear skirts and heels pretty much every day. How much more feminine can you get?” I hope she doesn’t catch on that I notice what she wears every day. More than notice, I actually have favourite outfits that she wears. I could probably list off five different pairs of shoes that give me a semi every time she has them on.
