“I want to die.”
“Yeah, it sounded pretty bad.”
“No. It’s not just that I feel like dying, I want to die,” I mutter and slide away from the toilet bowl to lean against the cool tile wall next to the shower. My stomach rolls at the motion and I groan. Why is this happening to me on the night I’m about to get what I’ve always wanted?
“What’s wrong? Why are you sick? Can I come in?”
“I think it might be food poisoning,” I say as I start to get the chills. Dear God, why? Why now? “I ate sushi from some place I’d never been to before.”
“How much?”
“A lot.” My stomach rolls again, but something twitches lower. Oh God, I want to die. “You can’t come in. I don’t want you to see this. Maybe you should go.”
I wait for a response, but I don’t get one for a long time, and it kind of makes me panic, but then I have to throw up again so I concentrate on that. When I’m done—for now—I softly call out her name as I drop back onto the cool floor tile. She doesn’t answer. Maybe she left? I mean, it’s not like she’s getting any action tonight. And she may be so grossed out she’ll never want action from me. Ugh.
The thought makes the painful cramping move from my stomach to my chest. I don’t want this to end—it hasn’t even begun again. This feels deeper than just my dick talking too, which must be because I’m dying—I’m weak. I close my eyes and will this to go away. A few minutes later there’s a soft rapping on the bathroom door.
“Jude?” She’s still here. “I ran to the corner store and got you some stuff like Gatorade and Pedialyte. It’s great for keeping you hydrated when you have a stomach bug. And I’m going to leave a blanket here too, in case you get the chills.”
“Thanks!” I manage weakly. God, I want to ask her to come in here and let me lie in her lap, but I don’t want her to see this.
“I’m not leaving, either. I’ll just be in the other room, so yell if you need anything.”
“You don’t have to stay…” Oh God, why does talking make me want to barf again?
“I want to. I want to make sure you’re okay,” she says quietly. “Just yell if you need anything.”
I hear her feet pad across the wood floor and the soft click of the bedroom door. I slowly get to my feet, trying not to agitate what’s left of the vile food inside me. I will never eat sushi again. I make it to the door and pull it open. There are three Gatorades and a couple Pedialytes and the cashmere cable-knit throw from my bed on the floor in front of the door. I contemplate moving to the bed and lying down, but I have a horrible suspicion I still need to be as close to the toilet as possible. I snatch the blanket and an orange Gatorade and drag them back into the bathroom.
I must have fallen asleep at some point after a few more barfing episodes. It feels like I just blinked, but the bathroom is really dark, and there’s nothing but night sky visible outside the bedroom windows.
I place my hands gently on my stomach. My whole body feels like I’ve gone a few rounds in an MMA cage match, but when I start to sit up there’s no tsunami of nausea, so that’s a positive sign. I think the room smells horrible. Or maybe that’s just me. I get to my feet and reach for my toothbrush off the counter. It feels like it takes me ten minutes to go through the simple task of putting toothpaste on the toothbrush, and then I start moving slowly, like I’m walking in water, into my bedroom as I brush. My Himalayan salt lamp is still glowing, the only light in the room now besides the glow of the alarm clock, which says it’s a little before one in the morning.
Zoey showed up at my house a little before seven. She must be gone now. I mean, why would she still be here when I basically almost upchucked on her. Oh my God, I’m a complete moron. Who eats sushi from some place under his sister’s shitty apartment in a questionable area of town the night they’re going to hang out with their lifelong crush? Me. I’m that idiot. Ugh.
I sniff. Yeah, it isn’t the bathroom that stinks, it’s definitely me. I want to go out there and see if she’s still here, but not smelling like this. I make my way back into the bathroom, gently bending and scooping up the Pedialyte as I pass it. I spit and rinse off my toothbrush, putting it back in the holder before I open the shower door. I turn on all three showerheads, the two on opposite walls and the rain head. Holy shit, I have to play hockey tomorrow. Sure, it’s just a charity game, but still. Right now I don’t even know how I’m going to make it through this shower without a nap. Jesus.
I drop the only things I’m wearing—my jeans and underwear—to the ground and slowly step inside. The water is deliciously warm and beats the remaining chill from my bones. I lean forward, placing my hands on the wall, and let my head hang. Please may this be over. May I be on the road to recovery. I’ve only had food poisoning one other time, and it came on as fast and vicious as this but left within hours. I’m hoping this bout has a similar pattern.
My eyes open, and I notice a shadow outside the steamy glass door. Holy shit, is it Zoey? I say her name, and the shadow moves toward the door. “Sorry. I heard water and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Something surges through me, and for the first time in hours it’s not bad fish. I push myself off the wall and reach for the shower door, swinging it open. It shouldn’t be a great effort, but it leaves me exhausted and my muscles achy. Zoey’s standing there in the T-shirt I had left out for her. I honestly never intended for her to wear it, but she looks sexy as fuck in it and nothing else. Well, maybe underwear, but the hem falls too low for me to be certain. She’s pulled her hair up in a messy knot, and the tendrils that have escaped have rebelled against the straightening iron she used and have started to curl. Paint splatters—the muted gray I bought for the guest room—are all over her arms like freckles. There’s even a smudge of it on her cheek.
“You actually painted the guest room?”
She nods and gives me a mouthwatering self-conscious smile. “I needed something to do while I waited to make sure you didn’t die.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“Jude…” Her eyes keep sliding down, and her face starts to glow pink, and then she bites her bottom lip. “You’re naked.”
I glance down. Right. I forgot. And not only am I naked, I am half hard. Oh, well. I look back up. She’s got her eyes firmly glued to my cock, and it makes it start to grow even more. And that makes me light-headed, because I seriously don’t have the physical capability for this right now. I hate the universe for that. I take a deep breath and reach out my hand. “You look like you need a shower too. Get that paint off you.”
She finally looks up at my face. Her head starts to bob in a nod of agreement.
“Get in here.”
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she reaches for the hem of my shirt and in one fluid motion lifts it up and off her body. I was right; she’s not wearing anything else under that except the pretty white lace panties I saw earlier. My eyes drift over pale, perfect skin and the swell of her breasts, and my eyes trace the outlines of her perfect pink nipples. My tongue travels along my bottom lip, and then she’s moving; without taking off the underwear, she’s stepping into the shower next to me. Before she can slip by, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.
