13. #EmotionalPanic
THIRTEEN
#EMOTIONALPANIC
Rose
There was no stranger danger sex last night.
That’s my first thought upon consciousness taking ahold of me.
Hell, there wasn’t even regular sex. I squeeze my eyes shut as the events of last night unfold in my mind. Fuck.
Maybe it was all a dream. Carefully, I open my eyes. Instead of the bare, light gray bedroom wall of my condo, where I was supposed to sleep last night, it’s the bare, white wall of Vance’s apartment. Fuck. Fuck.
Nope. Apparently, I really did pass out in a food coma, only to later blow chunks into my friend-with-bennies’ toilet in the wee hours of the morning. Awesome .
I burrow deeper under the covers.
My skin feels too tight, and my chest is all fluttery. Is this… embarrassment? It’s a new feeling for me. I mean, I do ridiculous things all the time. I’m the queen of the outlandish and in-your-face-ness. And never, not once, have I been so embarrassed that I felt like dying.
Until this moment.
I huff out a large sigh under the covers and regret it immediately. My breath is hot and foul like a metal garbage can left out in the Texas sun. Just another fantastic morning revelation. I pull the covers off for a breath of fresh air and catch sight of the windows above the bed.
Okay, maybe I don’t want to die , but I do find myself contemplating how to jump out of a three-story-high window without legit bodily harm. A sprained ankle would be a fair price to pay for bypassing a walk of shame.
Especially as my side of the bed has a towel draped over the edge and a trashcan pulled up close. There’s even a tall glass of water on a coaster on the nightstand.
So not only did he not get stranger danger, but Vance took care of me? That’s weird, right?
I slide my foot across the sheets in search of another body but find no one. Okay, good. Silver lining. I can sneak off to the bathroom before he?—
“Rose?”
Slamming my eyes shut, I lie still and feign sleep.
I can’t hear his footsteps on the carpet, but from my awkward position, on my side with my back leg extended, I can feel him getting closer.
Breathe in, breathe out. Relax your eyelids. Do not react to his unfair, delicious morning scent.
He taps my nose. “No use pretending, Rosie-girl. You are not that graceful a breather.”
I try to fake snore, but the air gets caught funny, and I start coughing.
Hashtag fail.
Vance chuckles, soft and deep. Not only is it an awesome sound, but it’s a fantastic visual when I open my eyes, even though I’m embarrassed as fuck.
“You’re a nut, you know that?” His eye crinkles are deep and sexy.
I grunt, not sure what to say. Because on top of being disgusted with the aftermath of being sick, embarrassed that he took care of me, and ashamed that I didn’t make good on my stranger danger plans, I’m now turned on.
He laughs again. “The great and mighty Rose West isn’t feeling embarrassed, is she?” His right eye crinkles more as his smile turns into a smirk.
“Maybe,” I say into the pillow, regretting it instantly when my breath blows back at me.
Instead of more laughter, which is what I’m expecting, Vance runs his hands through my hair. Or tries to—it’s kind of a knotty mess. “No need to be embarrassed.”
I grunt again.
“Come on.” He lightly shakes my shoulder. “After being sick, nothing feels better than a warm shower.”
I don’t move.
“ And I’ve got a new toothbrush with your name on it.”
That perks me up. Lifting my head, I chance a good look at him. He doesn’t seem annoyed. His smile is gentle, almost… loving? I don’t blink, trying to memorize this moment. The embarrassment fades, and I feel?—
He slaps my ass over the covers. “Come on. You stink.”
Well, then. Moment over.
Twenty minutes later, I feel great. Nay, fabulous.
Conditioner and a toothbrush. Is there really anything else a girl needs?
Well, maybe orgasms. Yes, definitely orgasms. But one thing at a time.
I’m sitting at Vance’s counter in one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers—washed, cleaned, conditioned, and eating oatmeal.
Not a trace of nausea to be felt.
Hashtag win.
“Are you sure you should be eating that?” Vance eyes my oversized bowl. “I mean, oatmeal by itself wouldn’t be so bad when you’re not feeling well, but did you even measure how much brown sugar and maple syrup you put on that?”
“I feel great,” I say with my cheeks full of sugared oats. “I don’t think I was actually sick. I think my stomach just revolted because I ate so much last night.” I manage to swallow, the hot cereal making my eyes water a bit. “Otherwise there is no way I’d feel better so quickly.”
“That would explain why no one else got sick.”
I pause, a large spoonful halfway to my mouth. “How do you know?” I glare at him. “You didn’t tell Helen I was sick, did you?”
“Calm down, champ.” He holds out both hands toward me. “I only texted Brit and told her I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh.” I jam the spoon in my mouth. “Thanks,” I mumble around the oatmeal.
Vance is making me uncomfortable. And this time it has nothing to do with waking up with vomit breath.
Rehashing all my past relationships, it isn’t like I dated losers.
Okay, I never really dated dated, but then neither are Vance and I.
And it isn’t like any of the guys I’ve been with were jerks.
No one talked shit to me or was overly aggressive.
But they also didn’t invite me to family Thanksgivings or hold my hair back while I threw up (which, during my younger, pre-legal party days, they had plenty of chances) or took the blame for something to save me embarrassment.
And they sure as shit didn’t ask me to stay around for breakfast in the morning when they caught me trying to Uber my way home.
I eye the phone in question, its glitter case turned over and placed out of my reach. “So how long are you going to confiscate my phone for?”
He pours milk over his Mueslix. “When you promise not to high-tail it out of here until you feel better.”
“Like I said, I feel fine.” I scoop another spoonful into my mouth. It’s mostly maple syrup. So good.
He gives me an eye roll worthy of myself. “Uh huh, sure.”
“Okay, Dad .”
He shivers. “Please don’t ever say that again.”
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling cringey. “It was weird for me too.”
We smile at each other. Another moment I’m unsure about.
Music blasts, and we both jump.
“‘Whip It’?” Vance’s lips quirk as he grabs my phone when I lean over to get it. “I didn’t know you were a Devo fan. Isn’t that a little before your time?”
“It’s my ringtone for Flynn.” I reach out, making the gimmie motion with my hand. “You know, ’cause he’s so whipped.”
Chuckling, he ignores me, answering the call before I can stop him. “Hey, Flynn.”
Even I can hear the foreboding silence emanating from the phone.
“Flynn?” Vance repeats.
A deep rumble, but one I can’t decipher, comes through the other side.
Vance’s smile gets bigger. “She’s fine, she’s with me.”
More rumbling. I’m impressed by how unperturbed Vance is over my brother’s posturing. Flynn’s newfound brotherly protectiveness can be intimidating.
Vance laughs. “Rosie will be with me all day, so don’t worry about it.”
I will? Sitting up on my stool, I frown at him in question.
Vance winks at me.
What the hell does that mean?
I have an odd sense of the shoe being on the other foot. I’m usually the one keeping people on their toes, calling the shots. How did I get myself into this, this… situation with Vance?
My eyes travel down to his crotch, where his big-ass dick rests behind a fine netting of sports shorts material and silky, athletic boxer briefs. I shift on my stool, uncomfortable now for another reason.
“Talk later. Tell Jackie I said hi.” Vance hangs up.
I try to mask my arousal with an amused tone. “You know, he might have let you live until you mentioned his wife.”
“Jackie?” Vance mulls it over. “Nah, him saying good-bye after I mentioned her was the only time he didn’t sound like he was going to castrate me.”
I quirk a brow at what he thinks is an exaggeration. “He knows how, by the way.”
“How what?” He pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“To castrate you.” I take a sip of water. “Part of growing up on the ranch.”
Vance cringes and lowers his spoon back to the bowl. “Thanks for that.”
I chuckle. “Relax, I’m just messing. Flynn’s all talk really. He just acts that way out of guilt.”
Vance frowns, taking a bite of his Mueslix. My lips curl as it crunches. He might as well eat twigs and dirt, in my opinion.
He swallows. “What guilt?”
My next bite of oatmeal is mostly brown sugar, so I try and stir it.
It’s hard to do as I like my oatmeal near paste-like without much milk.
“He just feels bad that he wasn’t around when I got back from boarding school.
He doesn’t mean it when he gets like that.
You’re safe.” I finally get the spoon going, but Vance’s silence stops me.
He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Which is not an unusual look for me to receive, but one that I don’t think I deserve at this particular moment in time.
I put my spoon down. “What?”
“I think you underestimate your brothers.” He pats his cereal into the bowl with the back side of his spoon, probably trying to get his cardboard breakfast to soften in the milk. “They both really care.”
“Yeah, sure.” I shrug, my skin feeling tight again. “I know.”
His penetrating gaze intensifies for a sec, but thankfully switches to his gross, healthy cereal again.
We sit in silence for the rest of breakfast, me wondering how much side-eye I’ll get if I add more maple syrup to my bowl, him staring down at the counter as if lost in thought.
We finish our breakfasts at the same time, and before I can hop off the stool, Vance takes our bowls and rinses them in the sink.
He needs a sponge to clean the sticky syrup and sugar off mine before he can put it in the dishwasher.
It’s very domesticated. And new to me. I’ve never just shared space with someone in silence like this. It’s a simple thing, compared to me having previously deep-throated him, but somehow more… intimate?
“Want to watch TV? Price is Right should be on soon.”
I perk up, my musings forgotten. “I love The Price is Right !” I jump off the stool and move over into his small living room area, flopping onto his overstuffed leather couch. “I’m so good at this game. You’re gonna go down, old man.”
He grabs a blanket off the back of an armchair and drapes it over me. “I didn’t realize it was a competition.”
“Duh.” I roll my eyes for effect. “Life is a competition.”
“Is that so?” Lifting my legs, he sits, dropping them back down on his lap, making sure they’re covered by the blanket. “Then I guess I’m already winning.”
I pretend he’s talking about being an astronaut. “Okay, astro-boy.”
But as he holds my eyes for a moment longer than I think necessary, I have a sneaking suspicion he’s not.