Chapter 22 Phoebe #2
My foot must have fallen asleep because I stumble when I rise from the booth.
Thankfully, Ollie is right there and puts his arm around me to hold me steady.
Maybe I shouldn’t have worn these heels—they suddenly feel a lot higher than they did when I put them on.
I’m more wobbly than I usually am. And so tired.
I think everything that happened today is catching up with me. Hopefully the fog passes quickly.
We arrive back at the suite, and Ollie keeps a hold of me as he puts the bag holding our treats on the coffee table and then leads me into the bedroom. Yes! Finally.
“Sit down,” he says. “Let’s get these heels off you.”
Ollie kneels in front of me, and I say, “I really like you in that position.” I’m proud of myself for thinking of something sexy like that.
“Well,” he says as he lifts from my left foot and then my right to slip my pumps off. His hand lingers on my calf, and I’m so glad I took time to shave my legs in the shower earlier. “I’ve had a lot of practice lately.”
He gives my calf a light squeeze and then stands. His belt buckle is about level with my face. He helped me with my shoes, I should help him with his belt. That’s the polite thing to do, right?
I reach out for his belt buckle, but he quickly steps back and grabs my wrists gently but firmly.
“Whoa there, Phoebs. My belt can stay on, it’s not uncomfortable. But how about we get you out of that pretty dress and into your pj’s?”
“Are you getting out of your clothes too?” I ask. My voice sounds weird. Kind of slow and like it’s riding up and down on a roller coaster. Or maybe that’s my stomach riding the roller coaster? Oh good lord, dinner is riding a roller coaster.
I rush to the bathroom and make it to the toilet barely in time to lose my dinner. Ollie is right here, holding my hair back with one hand as he wets a washcloth with the other. When I’m done, he wipes my face because I’m suddenly sweaty. And cold. And teary. I hate being sick to my stomach.
“I didn’t think food poisoning could hit that quick,” I moan. “I hope you don’t get it too.”
He sighs and continues to gently wipe my face, removing my makeup. The poor washcloth will get stained. Ollie doesn’t know about makeup remover wipes.
“It’s not food poisoning, Phoebe, you’re drunk.”
Indignant, I stamp my bare foot. “I am not!”
He leans back to avoid my puke breath. Oops.
“Yeah, you are. The berry lemonade had alcohol in it. Quite a bit. You didn’t know that?”
“No! I wouldn’t have ordered it if I did! I always get some kind of berry lemonade, and it never has alcohol in it.”
“Well, apparently berry lemonade at Applebee’s is different than at the casino steakhouse,” he retorts.
“Oh. Yeah. Well, it was yummy. Going down. Coming back up, not so much.”
He chuckles at that, like my suffering is funny.
And since when does he chuckle so loud? The acoustics in this bathroom suck—it’s like an echo chamber.
And who puts strobe lights in a bathroom?
I close my eyes but pop them open immediately when the room tilts.
Or I tilt. Something’s tilting, and I don’t like it.
“How’s your stomach feeling?” Ollie asks as he reaches out one-handed to rinse the washcloth. His other arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me against his side.
I think about it. “It’s not churning anymore, but it’s sore. That’s the most strenuous core workout I’ve had in I don’t know how long.”
Nodding, he glances in my toiletry bag and grabs my toothbrush and toothpaste. “You okay to brush your teeth?”
I shrug. “I guess so?”
He prepares my toothbrush for me and steps aside so I can brush my teeth at the sink. When I’m done, he rinses it and balances it on the cup I used for water. Taking my hand, he leads me back to the bedroom and the bed.
“Okay, let’s get you changed so you’re comfy. I’m going to get your pj’s out of your bag, all right?”
I want to nod, but my brain sloshes too much so I mutter, “Yeah.”
Ever the optimist, I packed a gorgeous blue satin nightgown that hits midthigh.
“Oh, Phoebs, you’re killing me.” Ollie groans when he holds it up.
I try not to get teary. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d like it.”
“I do. Very much. Too much.”
“I didn’t mean to get drunk. I wanted tonight to be special for us. Especially because we got engaged for real today and it was our first date. I really, really wanted us to have a good date.” I hiccup and let out a little groan. “I hoped you would want to go out with me on more dates.”
“It’s okay, cupcake. We can try again another time.”
My heart leaps at that. And then drops. What if he’s okay saying that because he feels sorry for me and doesn’t want to be stuck here with drunk, upset Phoebe? Can’t say that I blame him—I don’t want to be around me like this either.
He holds my nightgown out by the strap. “Do you need help getting out of your dress and into this?”
Time for my coquettish smile. “If I say yes, will you help me?”
Who knew Ollie’s brows could be both raised and furrowed at the same time? I try to do it too, but I make myself dizzy.
“Are you okay?” Ollie asks, leaning forward and placing a steadying hand on my shoulder.
I know better than to nod. “Yeah,” I sigh, my shoulders drooping, causing Ollie’s hand to drop away. I miss the warmth and connection. “And yeah, I can get changed. I’m fine.”
He nods. Lucky bastard doesn’t fall over. He strides out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.
I strip off the dress and throw it on the chair with my bra.
I pull the nightgown over my curves and check myself out in the mirror.
I thought I’d still have makeup on when I wore this.
Being barefaced, I feel like I’m playing dress-up.
I look silly, not sexy. That’s a sobering thought.
I don’t want Ollie seeing me like this—he’d never want me.
Grabbing the robe I wore earlier, I wrap it tight around me and pad barefoot into the sitting area.
Ollie is sitting on the sofa and looks up from his phone.
“I ordered us hot cocoa from room service. It should be here in a few minutes. Figured we could drink it while we eat dessert.”
“Sounds good,” I say while taking the seat next to him. As soon as my ass hits the cushion, he pops up like the sofa is a seesaw.
“I’m going to get changed, be right back.” He runs for the bedroom.
Fine. Whatever. Awesome. Crossing my arms, I rest my head against the sofa while I wait for Ollie to finish changing.
I always thought the day I got engaged would be full of kisses and lovemaking and feeling connected to my fiancé.
That’s not how today turned out. No kisses, no lovemaking, and the connection Ollie and I have feels strained to the point of breaking.
This is the loneliest I’ve felt in the longest time.
I hope closing my eyes stops the tears from falling, but they still slip down my cheeks.