Chapter 12
Miles
My hangover has lasted two long and torturous days.
I was so sick Friday morning that I had to call out, which is entirely Rudy and Maxwell’s fault.
They had me out until three am. I don’t remember getting home.
But I did get home safely and woke up in my bed without vomit anywhere.
Which I think is part of the problem. Had I gotten rid of some of the alcohol, maybe I’d have felt better.
When my alarm went off for work, I was not only sick, but I was still drunk.
I never call out, so it wasn’t that serious—I have plenty of time to use. Now I get a long weekend, only I don’t get to enjoy it because I feel like I was hit by a car and force-fed rat poison.
It’s almost six on Saturday now. My house is a mess and smells stale and sour.
I should shower and drink five more gallons of water to flush all this toxicity out of my system.
All I’ve eaten is greasy ass pizza that I ordered yesterday at lunch and have been munching on since.
Gross, I know, but it’s the best when you’re hung over, and though I am nauseous, I’m keeping everything down.
I shuffle to the bathroom and force myself into the shower. I feel slightly more human after it, brush my teeth and even brush my hair, which only gets poofy.
“Whatever.”
I put the brush down. It falls to the floor, but there’s no way I’m bending down with my head pounding like it is, so I leave it as another day’s problem. I step into my room and the stench hits me. Sweat.
“Ugh,” I mutter, pulling the sheets off my bed and tossing them into a pile in the corner. I fight a rough bout of nausea and my pounding head as I remake my bed with new sheets—sheets that don’t smell like stale alcohol and body sweat.
I slide into bed and close my eyes, hoping to go back to sleep for a little while and not wake up until I feel better.
My phone rings sometime later, waking me up.
I blink and it’s pitch black in the room. How long was I asleep? I blindly reach for my phone, swiping it to answer.
“Hullo?” I mutter.
“I woke you again. I suck at this.”
I huff a laugh that turns into a groan and roll on my side.
“It’s okay. You can wake me up whenever you want.”
“Are you drunk?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Since Thursday.”
It’s silent for a moment, then, “You’re still drunk from Thursday? Damn. You must feel like shit.”
“Sure do.”
“Is there anything I can get for you?”
I smile to myself.
“No, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’d like to,” he says. “Do you want food or something? Medicine?”
“Really, it’s okay.
“Really, Miles, it is okay. Let me bring you something. Oh—unless you don’t want me at your house. I’m sorry, I—”
“No,” I blurt. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to go out of your way over my stupidity.”
“You were just having a good time,” he says. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Yeah,” I say, my cheeks heating as I recall what we did and how ballsy I was that night.
I know I get brave with alcohol, but jerking off in the bathroom at Crown & Veil while video chatting with someone is a whole new level.
One I’m not sure I can beat. “Okay, fine. You can bring me things, but on one condition,” I say.
“What’s that?” he asks, sounding humored.
“You have to stay for a little while.”
“I planned on it.” I hear the smile in his voice.
“Good. Okay. Uh, stairs are hard right now, my head is pounding, and—”
“Do you need medicine?”
“I took some, it’s just not helping. I think I need more water.”
“I’ll make you a care package. I’ve had my fair share of rough hangovers.”
“You? Mister calm, cool, and collected?” He laughs but says nothing. “Anyway, I’ll have Audrey leave the door open so you can come up when you get here. That okay?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling as my eyes fall closed.
“See you soon, Party Animal.”
“Bye, JJ-I-can’t-tell-you-my-real-name-or-I’d-have-to-kill-you.”
I hear him laughing as I end the call, and the sound is wonderful.
The front door opening wakes me, and I roll over, hoping he’ll know to find me in here. And he does, his arms full of brown paper bags.
“Wow,” I say, looking up at him. “Did you leave food for anyone else?”
“How the hell can you see in here?”
“Light is evil,” I groan, pulling the blankets up higher.
“I’m going to put this stuff in your kitchen. I will turn the light on in there, so be prepared.”
“What did you bring me?” I call out.
“You’ll see soon,” he calls back.
From where I am, I can see out my door and partly into the kitchen.
The light flicks on, and I watch as he moves back and forth, pulling things from the bags and putting them on the counter.
It feels domestic, and very… comforting.
To have someone here taking care of me, rather than me being the one to take care of them—which is what I always do.
It’s not a problem, and I’m not complaining, it’s just nice for the roles to be switched for once.
JJ comes into the bedroom with a glass in his hand.
“Sit up,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. He gives me the glass once I’m up and resting against the headboard. “When did you last take meds?”
“Little while before you called.” I sniff the glass. “What is this?”
“Electrolytes. Lots of them.”
I sip it. The clear liquid has a raspberry flavor. I drink it just slow enough that it doesn’t hurt my stomach or make me want to throw up. He takes the glass when it’s empty, but his gaze stays on me.
“I was just kidding, you know. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I say.
“Were you actually kidding, or are you just saying that because you feel weird about asking me to stay?”
“Well, I didn’t really ask. I sort of—”
“If I didn’t want to be here, Miles, I wouldn’t be.”
I give him a small smile. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Get some sleep.” He rests his hand on my thigh, over the blanket. “I’m going to make dinner.”
“You’re cooking?” I gasp.
He gets to his feet. “Why is that shocking?”
“Uh… actually, I don’t know. I guess I just thought you’d grab pizza or something.”
“I hate pizza.” He moves toward the door, but stops, pointing to the dirty sheets. “Did you throw up?”
“No,” I say. “Thank God. They’re just sweaty—and smell bad.”
“Do you have a washing machine?”
“Yes, but you do not, and I seriously mean this, need to do my laundry.”
“Of course I don’t need to.” He gathers it all up, looking at me over his shoulder from the doorway. “But I’m going to do it, anyway.”
He grins as I place the glass on the end table and sink into the bed, bringing the blankets up to my chin.
I like having someone take care of me, but I’m not used to it. It’s weird because it’s new. A few times and I’ll get used to it. Spoiled, even.
But what am I thinking? That’s not what this is. He’s just being nice. We aren’t getting married and moving in with one another. This won’t be a common occurrence.
I’m definitely still drunk.
I throw the blankets back and get out of bed, taking a moment to breathe so my head will stop pounding before I stand. I go into the kitchen and lean in the doorway to take in everything he’s put on the counter. He glances at me over his shoulder.
“Why are you out of bed?”
“I wasn’t told to stay in bed.”
“I told you to sleep.”
“But you didn’t say when…”
He rolls his eyes, then goes back to cutting up a chicken breast. I move into the kitchen and lean against the counter in front of the sink, close to where he’s standing.
“What are you making?”
“Chicken Alfredo. Hope that’s okay.”
I look at the ingredients on the counter and peek into the brown paper bag. It’s empty.
“Did you forget the sauce?”
He smirks. “I’m making the sauce.”
“Making the—holy crap, you are spoiling me.”
Chuckling, he says, “It’s not the best, but it is pretty good.” He looks at me, raising a brow. “If you go lay in bed, maybe I’ll feed it to you.”
I narrow my eyes, pointing at him. “You play dirty, sir.”
“Never claimed otherwise.”
“Okay, but… since I’m so ill, and nearly on my deathbed over here...” I flutter my lashes.
“Oh boy,” he says with an eye roll.
“It would be so kind of you to tell me what your name is.”
“Hmm, that would be kind, wouldn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Too bad I’m not a nice person.”
“Bullshit. You’re making me dinner.”
He says nothing to that but sneaks a glance at me. “Maybe I just like you not knowing what it is.”
“For what purpose?”
“Because you’re adorable when you keep asking.”
I bite my bottom lip and push off the counter to go back to bed. All I can think about is him feeding me dinner. And I like it a little too much.