Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
Opening my eyes, I feel sick. The little bit of light coming from the blinds causes a searing pain in my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Until I realize the room I’m in isn’t mine.
Not at my apartment. Or the guest room.
Eyes popping open, I panic. Where am I?
I turn to my right to find Tucker asleep beside me, and I think I might be sick. I’m in Tucker’s room. In his bed.
He doesn’t cuddle.
He’s made this very clear when he has me and leaves me.
Slipping out of bed, I hold my head as it throbs. The nausea intensifies, and I can’t believe I let Nancy talk me into taking shots with her last night. I knew better than to shoot tequila, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t welcome the escape.
And Tucker was there. No matter what happened, I knew I was safe.
Except from a hangover.
I fully understand everyone’s complaint about them now. This is terrible. Why the hell do people voluntarily do this to themselves multiple times a week?
Holy shit, I’m in Tucker’s room. Why was I in his bed? Why am I only wearing a shirt and panties?
We only ever come together in the room I stay in. What the hell happened last night? The last thing I really remember is throwing up in the bathroom with Nancy holding back my hair.
Oh God, Nancy must think I’m a total geek. Oh, that’s just Phoebe. She can’t even shoot tequila like a normal girl.
I almost laugh. No one has ever confused me for normal.
I walk out and step into the safety of the room I’ve called my own since meeting Tucker. Curling up onto the bed, I will the effects of tequila away. Maybe if I wish hard enough, the pain and sick feelings will go away.
“I’m so not making that margarita cake,” I mumble, remembering a piece of my conversation with Tucker.
At this point, I don’t even want to make my pretzel cupcakes because even the thought of smelling the stout makes my stomach roll. I might actually throw up, but I can’t bring myself to move. Moving makes it worse.
“What are you doing here?”
Tucker’s deep voice is just loud enough to make me flinch as a searing hot pain shoots behind my eyes.
“Seriously, why do people do this on purpose?” I ask with a groan. “What happened last night?”
“You drank tequila.”
“That much I remember. And then vomiting. Which might happen again. But that’s about all I remember. Aside from waking up in your bed.”
He walks over to hand me a bottle of water and a pill bottle. Whatever he offers, I’m taking. No questions asked. Not only does he have more experience with the aftereffects of alcohol than I do, whatever he’s giving me can’t make me feel any worse than I do right now.
“If you woke up there, why are you in here?”
Swallowing the pills, I lean back onto the soft pillows. “You don’t cuddle.”
“What?”
“That’s what you always say before you leave. Please forgive me. I don’t cuddle. I assume falling asleep in your bed rather than coming back in here was my mistake. After whatever we did last night.”
“You think I fucked you when you were too drunk to even ride on the back of my bike? That I’d do something you couldn’t give consent for?”
He sounds angry, and he gets louder. Which makes my temples throb.
“If you did, I know I said yes.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I can’t say no. Normally. This present moment might be different. Too much jostling would create a terrible experience for the both of us. Even I know vomit is not very sexy.”
Sighing, he sits on the bed. “Did you wake up naked?”
I frown. “I’m never naked. We just move my clothes to the side.”
I close my eyes and feel a little better. All light hurts, even the slight glow from the hallway, and it’s easier not to focus on anything. Especially Tucker’s face. I don’t like how pained he looks.
I want to know why that seems to hurt him, but I honestly don’t have the brain power or energy to read between the lines right now.
“Phoebe—”
“Was I bad last night?”
“What?”
“You called me Phoebe.”
He pauses, and I almost open my eyes until he says, “That’s your name.”
“But you usually call me Yellow Crayon.”
I open one eye to watch as he rubs his hand down his face. His perfectly handsome face, even with his scar and stubble.
“We just slept last night. I’m not going to have you when you’re too drunk to remember it.”
It would sound sweet if I didn’t know he’d never give himself to me fully. But then it hits me.
“We slept in your bed? Why didn’t you just put me in here?”
“Because.”
And we’re back to cryptic. Maybe I should turn the tables to get him drunk like he did me last night. I put the pieces together after the second shot with Nancy last night. “I—”
My phone rings with a shrill so loud that I swear my head is about to crack right down the middle.
“Oh my God, that is such a stupid ringtone. Why do I have to keep it at full blast volume?” I groan and reach to stop it before my brain oozes out onto his guest bed. “Sarah?”
“Phoebe, there’s a man here, and he’s pissed. Like, really pissed. He screamed at me because he needs two hundred cupcakes, but I can’t find an order. He’s demanding to speak to you. In person. Right now.”
The tears can be heard through her tone, and even though I’m not in a great position to deal with an angry customer, it’s my business. This is my responsibility. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“What’s going on?” Tucker asks as I toss my phone onto the bed.
I climb off the bed and walk into the bathroom. Splashing cold water onto my face helps a bit. Not a lot, but at least I’m more awake. Now, I need pants.
“I need to go to the shop. There’s some customer screaming at Sarah. Any chance you can bring me? I don’t think my eyes will open fully in the sunlight.”
“Yeah, but we’ll need to take your car. I don’t know that you’ll be all that steady on the back of my bike.”
Swishing mouthwash, I swallow the bile climbing up my throat at the alcohol taste. Just what I need. An endless cycle of trying to freshen my breath and throwing up.
“Wait,” I say, turning to face him as he leans against the doorframe. “You said I couldn’t ride on the bike last night. How’d we get home?”
His smile nearly melts me, and he chuckles. “It was a fun game of musical cars.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I had to call Zep, who came and got us in Misty’s car. Then, after I put you in bed because you passed out, he drove me back to the bar to get my bike. Then I came home and helped you throw up twice before putting you back to bed.”
My stomach churns at the idea, and I barely make it to the toilet in time. If I were Tucker, I’d run away. Leave me alone to handle things on my own, but he holds back my hair and rubs my back instead.
“Don’t fight it. It’ll only make it worse,” he says, his voice soft.
It’s such a caring gesture, but I also remember how he told me last night that we’re only in a temporary situation.
“I’m okay,” I say, brushing him off me. “I just need to brush my teeth and… find pants. I’ll be quick.”
Great, not only did Nancy watch me vomit, Tucker has, too. Multiple times. The guy I like having sex with will probably never want to screw me ever again.
I brush my teeth, thankful the toothpaste doesn’t make me sick again. It almost makes me feel human again.
This doesn’t seem real, and I fight the urge to break down into tears. I can’t believe this happened. But what do I really expect? This is only temporary, right?
Maybe Tucker watching me throw up everything I’ve eaten for the past couple of days will solve my problem. No more abandonment because he’s sickened by the thought of me.
Yeah. Problem totally solved.