Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
I was dragged back into consciousness by the sound of someone throwing up.
Where the fuck did we go last night for Maca to have drunk enough to be in this state?
I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head, and realised in an instant that the sound was coming from my bathroom, not Maca’s.
Shit.
Ashley.
I jumped out of bed and ran to my bathroom, stopping in the doorway as I watched her arch over my toilet as she sat on her knees in front of it. All the while, she was trying to hold her hair back and I remembered that Jimmie told me I should tie her hair in an elastic band.
I ran to the kitchen and pulled open the junk drawer.
You know, that one that every house has, filled with elastic bands, Blu-Tack, paper clips, batteries, pens, and condoms?
I rifled through it all until I found an elastic band big enough to hold all her hair, then I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before rushing back to my bathroom.
Her elbows were propped on the toilet seat, her arms crossed, and her head rested on top of them. Without saying a word, I pulled her hair back and attempted to wrap the elastic band around it. I didn’t miss the fact that she stiffened as soon as I touched her. I rubbed her back a few times.
“There’s a bottle of water there. Thought you might need it.” She turned her head and looked at me kneeling next to her.
“Oh God,” she groaned.
“Almost.” I said as I winked and held my hand out, as if to shake hers. “Most call me Marley. They save the God title for when I’m making their toes curl.”
She blinked those big blue-brown eyes at me before rolling them. “You’re such a dick, Rock Star.”
Yeah, I had to agree. Why the fuck did I just make that toe curl comment?
She unscrewed the cap on the water bottle, tilted her head back and swallowed. I couldn’t take my eyes from her throat. The way it moved as she swallowed each mouthful, the way her lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle …
I’m kneeling in front of her, in just a pair of boxers, and I have a big fat chub going on and no way to hide it.
I’m fucked. Totally and utterly fucked.
“I’m probably one of the few people in the world that actually wished this was all a dream, and I hadn’t really woken up in Marley Layton’s bed.”
Her voice brought me back from imagining all the ways I’d like to see her swallow and I thanked the God of hard-ons …
Erectimus? I think that was his name, or was that a transformer?
Erectimus Prime? Anyway, I thanked him, the God of hard-ons, that rather than making eye contact with me, she still had her head tilted back and was staring up at the ceiling.
“Well, cheers,” I told her, feeling a little hurt. Who the fuck doesn’t wanna wake up in my bed? Is she still drunk? I wonder, does she know exactly who I am?
She moved her head and her eyes and met mine. I’m not sure if they were glassy from her puke fest, or if she was actually about to cry and once again, I was hit with that unnerving need to make sure she was okay.
“Please tell me we didn’t fuck?”
“Wow, are you for fucking real right now?” That hurt, and I hated that it was obvious in my tone. I fucking hated that what she just asked bothered me so much.
“You’re Marley Layton. I’m not a part of your world.
I work for your mum and your sister, who also happens to be one of my best friends, the other being Jimmie, your future sister-in-law.
I don’t want to be the dinner table conversation next time you all get together, and I don’t want you all talking about how easy I was and what a slut I am.
Despite what people think they know about me, I’m not that type of girl. ”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and I couldn’t stay put. “C’mere,” I whispered and pulled her into my lap. I rested my back against the bath and pulled her into my chest, stroking her back and her hair as she cried.
“Nothing happened last night, and even if it did, I would never talk about it with my family.” Although that could’ve actually been a bit of a lie. We did tend to share in my family.
“So how come I’m wearing your clothes?”
Ah shit. And it was all going so well.
“Well, here’s the thing. You sorta threw up everywhere, and I do mean everywhere; in the back of the car, over your posh party frock, over me―”
“Oh fuck,” she cried, burying her face in my chest.
“Again, feel free to just call me Marley.” That earned me a dig in the ribs from her dainty little fist.
“So, did you undress me? Please tell me you called Jimmie or George to do that.”
“I called Jim.” I reassured her and felt her relax against me instantly, but I know it’s not gonna last.
“Thank fuck for that,” she sighed out the words in relief.
“And she stayed on the line while I stripped you off, showered you, washed your hair, and dressed you again for the second time.”
She made a loud, over-exaggerated sobbing noises. “Noooo, noooo. Why did I get in such a state? What happened? The last thing I remember is us dancing.”
“Yeah, and then you told me to get you drunk and that you might think about letting me shag ya.”
“Well whoo hoo, go you. You get top marks for getting me drunk, Rock Star.” She said sarcastically, her face still buried against my chest.
“Thanks,” I told her. She held up her hand for me to high five her and I did. Then I did something that I’d never, ever done with a girl before. I laced my fingers through hers and held her hand.
My dick stirred and I cringed. “Ash?”
“What?”
“My arse is going numb and my back hurts. You ready to go back to bed? I’ll make you a cup of tea or coffee, and some toast if you feel up to it.”
“The thought of making me breakfast is what’s making your dick hard right now, Rock Star?”
Busted!
My mouth dried up again, and I decided to try an untested concept of total honesty with a girl.
“No, I’ve got a hard-on because you’re sitting in my lap with your tits pushed against me and your arse pressing against my dick. And also because you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“I’m also not fucking stupid,” she mumbled from my chest.
“What? I can’t understand what you’re saying with your face down there. Although, if you were to dip lower, I’d understand perfectly―every fucking word.”
“Omit eth,” is what I thought she’d said.
“Nd, er a king ervert.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re saying down there, baby, but if you’re feeling a bit better, I’m gonna stand you on your feet. You should drink the rest of that water, and feel free to use my toothbrush. Then either come find me while I make us some breakfast, or wait in bed and I’ll bring it up to you.”
I stood her up on her feet, thanking that Erectimus bloke again that she just stared down at the tiled floor, her arms wrapped around her.
“Why the fuck won’t you look at me?” I asked her.
“Vomit breath,” she said more clearly.
“Ah, that’s what you were saying. What was the second part that I didn’t quite catch?” I asked, now fully aware of what it was she’d called me.
“I said, ‘And you’re a fucking pervert.’” I smiled, as I could imagine her blushing, and I really wanted to see that. Her skin looked so pale this morning that it’d be good to see some colour on her cheeks, like, really good … and I was starting to get hard again. Fuck you, dick gods.
“Well, I think the fact that I showered you and changed you into clean clothes, twice, I might fucking add, without once touching you inappropriately, just goes to prove that I’m not a pervert.”
She finally looked up at me, her blue-brown eyes still glassy.
“I’m sorry. Thank you for looking after me. I wasn’t talking about any of that. In fact, I’m trying really hard to forget that Marley Layton has seen my tits right now.”
“Then why am I a pervert? I don’t understand?”
“Because you’re you and I’m just me; a puke smelling, crazy haired lady, pasty faced nobody who obviously has no self-respect for herself because I came home with you last night, after only just meeting you.”
Tears clung to her bottom lashes and my heart missed a beat, then seemed to rush around in my chest, trying to find its missing action.
“Well, you know what, sweetheart? If getting a fat on over the most beautiful, puke smelling, crazy haired, pasty faced nobody I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing makes me a pervert, then I’m guilty as fucking charged.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of her perfect mouth and I finally got to see that blush spread up her neck and over her cheeks.
She swung her shoulders from side to side in the most girliest of gestures.
I closed my eyes and thought of chords, notes, frets.
I tried to write a tune in my head, anything to calm my boner down.
“I really wanna kiss the fuck outta you right now.” The blood supply that usually inhabited my brain had obviously sunk south to my dick because I never, at any stage, intended to say that out loud.
“I stink of puke,” she whispered.
“I don’t give a fuck.”
She looked over my face for a few seconds and I thought that she was gonna take a step forward, then something, I’ve no clue what, must’ve crossed her mind and her whole stance, even the look in her eyes, changed.
“I’ll pass on the kiss, thanks. I’ll just clean my teeth and meet you in the kitchen.” She gave me a small smile, but I still felt the sting of her rejection. I nodded my head and left the bathroom, pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a T-shirt and headed to my kitchen.
Fuck this for a game of soldiers. That―that right there, women and their unpredictability—were the reasons I didn’t do relationships. They were a complete mystery to me and that was exactly the way I wanted it to stay.
Fuck her and her blue-brown, brown-blue, or whatever the fuck eye colour she has.
Fuck her pink cheeks.
Fuck her perfect tits that I never looked at … much. Maybe a little bit, or a few times, but whatever. Fuck them anyway.
Fuck everything about her and the way she made me feel so off balance.