Chapter 6
TALLY
Flip sets me in the passenger seat and closes the door, blocking out the blustery December cold. He tucks his chin as he rounds the hood to the driver’s side.
I’m terrified, not of Flip’s disapproval or what all our friends must think—although that will come later, when I’m sober—but I fear I might hurl all over the leather interior of his luxury sports car.
It’s new. He bought it this summer. It’s black and sleek and smells like him.
I wish I could appreciate that I’m sitting in it, but my stomach is unhappy with my choices.
Flip settles into the driver’s seat and fastens his seat belt. Then he leans across, his hair brushing my cheek, and does the same for me. He backs up, gaze moving over my face. “Shots hitting you hard?”
I nod, but it makes everything spin. “Yeah.”
“It’s been a rough day, huh?”
“It started out great but went downhill at dinner.”
“I’m really sorry, kitten.” He opens the center console and passes me a reusable grocery tote. “In case your cookies need to be tossed.”
“Thanks.”
Being alone in his car with him is high on my fantasy list, but the being-too-hammered-to-function part is not.
He pulls out of the lot and into the sporadic late-night traffic. I stare into the bright green bag from the budget-friendly grocery store. Of course this is where Flip shops. He grew up poor. It doesn’t matter that he makes millions a year now. He still remembers where he started.
Too short a time later, he pulls into an underground parking garage.
I glance around, bleary-eyed and confused. I must have fallen asleep during the drive. “Where are we?”
“My place. I wasn’t convinced we’d make it to your apartment without an incident. I have a spare bedroom,” he explains.
“Oh. Good call.” It’s all I can think to say. Now my head is reeling just as much as my stomach. Flip brought me home with him. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.
He pulls into his designated spot and cuts the engine. It takes me a few seconds to realize I can’t get out without some action on my part. It takes several tries, but I finally hit the release button.
When I look up, he’s right there, hand extended. I slip my fingers into his open palm, wishing I could appreciate how good it feels to be touched by him. Even with his assistance, I stumble to my feet.
He catches me before I face-plant into his chest. His arm circles my waist, and he cups my cheek in his palm, exactly how I imagine he would if he were about to kiss me. Our faces are inches apart, his brow is slanted. “How much did you drink exactly, kitten?”
That term of endearment again. I want it to mean more than it does.
“Two margaritas, but then there were shots.”
“Shots are always the problem.” He keeps his arm around me, grabs the grocery tote from my empty seat, locks his car, and mostly carries me to the elevator.
I’ve never been this drunk before. The ride to his apartment was not good for my already addled brain and unsettled stomach.
I turn into him, pressing my face against his chest, inhaling mint and sandalwood. “I’m really sorry.”
“You’re okay, Talls. I’ve got you,” he assures me. “I know how tight you are with your family.”
“My mom kept this from me, and she never does that. My heart hurts.” I’m sure my head will too in the morning.
When we reach his floor, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Flip unlocks his apartment, props the door open with his foot, and helps me inside.
A pile of mail sits on his kitchen counter, next to a mostly full fruit basket.
His arm is still wrapped around me, our bodies pressed close. He tucks a finger under my chin. The two versions of him in my field of vision frown.
“You look green.”
“I don’t feel the best,” I say meekly.
“Your stomach is angry?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s get you out of these, first.” He kneels in front of me, and I settle a hand on his shoulder for balance as he helps me remove my heels.
I absently run my fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and silky it is. Is this what Flip the boyfriend would be like? Attentive, protective, caring. He lifts his head, emotions swimming in his eyes that I can’t catch and hold on to.
“Sorry.” I drop my hand to my side, heat rising in my cheeks. I was just petting him like Parsnip, my cat.
“It’s okay.” He pushes to his feet and guides me to the bathroom. He flicks on the light, illuminating the space. It’s clean, but the vanity is cluttered with hair and shaving products, like he got ready in a hurry.
Did he rush to the Watering Hole because of me?
He lifts the toilet seat as I sink to my knees.
“You should leave.” I grip the edge of the bowl as my stomach revolts.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He has enough time to gather my hair in a makeshift ponytail before the stupid shots come back up.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” I say between heaves.
“Too late for that.”
I retch again. Flip has been present for two of the top five most embarrassing moments of my life. And they’ve both been in the past week. “This is so humiliating.”
“Connor fucked my sandwich and our entire team knows, you’ll be fine,” Flip assures me.
He rubs soothing circles on my back when I dry heave. “That’s it. Get it all out.”
Eventually my body stops rebelling. But I’m sweaty and cold, goose bumps cover my clammy skin.
When I shiver, Flip crosses to the shower and grabs his bathrobe.
He threads my arms through soft terry cloth and cinches it at my waist. It’s six sizes too big, but it smells like him, and at least I’m warm.
He picks me up by the waist, sets me on the vanity, and turns on the water in the sink.
I’ve never had a boyfriend take care of me the way Flip is now. He’s so sweet and tender, patient and understanding. He’s not even mine and he’s being so thoughtful. “I’m really sorry,” I say to his chest.
“We’ve all been there, and you had a hard night.” He runs a cloth under the steaming water, wrings it out, and washes my face. “I’m sorry about your parents. And I’m sorry for the way they told you.” He hands me a glass of water.
“I didn’t see it coming.” I take a tentative sip, and when my stomach doesn’t immediately expel it, I take another.
“Neither did I, to be honest.”
I nod. “You see him more than I do.” I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “I feel so betrayed, like everything I believed has been a lie.”
“I get it, better than you probably realize.” Flip wraps his arms around me, and I grip his biceps, wishing this night had gone differently, but grateful that he’s the one taking care of me.
For now, anyway. Who knows what fresh embarrassment hell waits for me on the other side of this night.
Eventually he pulls back. “You’re less green.”
I try to brush my hair away from my face, but I’m uncoordinated and sloppy. “I must look awful.”
His expression softens. “You’re always beautiful, Tally.”
A tiny seed of hope tries to blossom at his compliment.
“But you’re still my coach’s daughter,” he mutters.
I can’t tell if it’s meant for me or as a reminder to him. Regardless, the tiny bud promptly withers.
Flip rummages around in the vanity until he finds a toothbrush, still in its wrapping. He frees it from the package. “Would you prefer mint toothpaste or bubblegum mint?”
“Regular mint is probably better.” But I love that he has kids’ toothpaste.
He steadies my hand and squeezes a small dollop onto the brush. He’s still standing in front of me, one hand resting on the vanity beside my terry cloth-covered thigh. It feels intimate. “Do you need my help with anything else?”
This is how Flip is. He takes care of people. I’m not unique or special. “I bet you do this for all the girls.” I don’t mean to say it aloud. It’s more a reminder not to throw myself at him again like an idiot.
His expression shifts, his sigh heavy. “I know what my reputation is, Tally. It follows me around like a bad shadow, but I didn’t realize you thought of me like that, too.”
“That’s not how I meant it.”
“Isn’t it?” He steps back. “I’ll give you a minute.”
The bathroom door closes behind him, leaving me on my own. My stomach twists with fresh guilt over putting that despondent look on his face again.
My thoughts are jumbled and unreliable as I ease myself off the vanity and brush my teeth.
You’re always beautiful.
But you’re still my coach’s daughter.
Tonight, he didn’t take me home, where Fee would have played nurse for me. Instead, I’m here, in his apartment.
But he said no.
And now I’ve upset him. I don’t want to be someone who hurts him.
I wish my head was clear enough to connect all the dots.
I finish brushing my teeth and drink another glass of water. My stomach is sore and shaky, but I feel much better than I did half an hour ago.
Flip pushes off the wall when I open the door to the bathroom. “How you doing?”
“Better. Less drunk.” I want to apologize again, but they’re just words.
He takes me in, assessing, maybe deciding for himself if he believes me. “That’s good. You look better.” His hand settles on my lower back and he guides me to the spare bedroom.
Two bottles of water and some painkillers sit on the nightstand.
“You’re sure you’re done throwing up?”
Is he worried about me, or his spare bed?
“Pretty sure. Yeah.” I feel awkward and uncomfortable now. The weight of it all too much to bear.
He thumbs over his shoulder. “I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”
“Okay. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“You’re important to me,” he says softly. “I care about you.”
But only as a friend.
His smile is small and empathetic. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“’Night.”
He pulls the door closed.
I’m suddenly beyond exhausted.
The sheets are already pulled back, so I climb into bed, turn off the lamp, close my eyes, and wish everything could go back to the way it was a week ago, before my life went up in flames.
I wake up sweaty, wrapped in a giant plush robe. I wriggle out of it and the cool air hits my damp skin, causing a full-body shiver. I smell awful, and I’m hungover as hell. My bladder is screaming just as loudly as my head. What happened last night?
My showcase went amazing.
But my parents said they were getting divorced.
I called Hammer.
We went to the Watering Hole.
And then what…?
This bed isn’t mine. Panic hits, pushing adrenaline through my veins as I throw off the covers, then groan at the sharp pain slicing through my skull. I’m a mess. I shuffle a couple of steps and nearly trip over my own feet. Then I kick something solid.
A grunt comes from below me as I trip over the lump and hurtle toward the floor. My face doesn’t connect with the ground, though. Instead, it mashes against something soft-ish.
“Oh my fuck!” the human groans.
Flip.
Memories of last night pop like bubbles in my brain.
Flip brought me back to his place. He took care of me.
And the tube-shaped thing my cheek is pressed up against is his dick.
In all my wildest dreams, this is not how I envisioned my first experience with Flip’s junk.