18. Chapter 18
Daria
Once we’re tucked inside Dane’s immaculate car and heading back to his apartment, it doesn’t take long for him to speak up. “I’m sorry for my family.” His knuckles flex on the steering wheel. “I know they’re invasive and over the top.”
“They’re fine, Dane.” I sigh. “I didn’t want to leave because of them.
” Do I admit that I really don’t feel well?
I don’t want him to think I’m criticizing his mom’s cooking.
It was truly delicious, but midway through the meal, my stomach started turning sour.
At first, I thought it was from all the questions, but my trip to the bathroom proved otherwise.
“Come on, D. I know the interrogation irritated you. It irritated me and I wasn’t the one being grilled all night.”
Even with Mrs. Kent’s antiquated ideas about love and marriage, it’s hard not to like her.
She’s hilarious and generous to a fault.
Plus, I admire a woman who speaks her mind.
“Your mom just cares a lot about you,” I say with all sincerity.
“I can’t fault her for wanting to be involved in your life. ”
Dane’s blank stare bores into me. “Are you kidding? You looked like you were ready to bolt the second she asked about your skirt.”
I run a hand over the fabric I formed into a one-of-a-kind design.
“It was flattering, actually. I don’t get to talk about my interests with many people.
” But I won’t confess to Dane that it also terrified me to tell strangers about my future career plans.
Sudden insecurity had me downplaying my dreams, if only to save myself the embarrassment if they never come to life.
I rest an elbow on the passenger side windowsill and press my forehead into my hand as my stomach grumbles another complaint.
“You could discuss you’re interests with me, you know,” he says quietly. “If you opened up more.”
I whip my head toward him. “Is that so? Somehow, I must’ve missed all the obvious opportunities we’ve had for sit-down chats since we started living together.”
He glances over at me with a quick shake of his head. "Come on, D. Just admit that you’re afraid to open up. That you’d rather put up a protective wall than let people see the real you.”
I grind my teeth together to stave off a rude retort. My stomach churns again, and I can’t tell if it’s from whatever illness is plaguing me or Dane’s too spot-on assessment. “Whatever, Dane. You don’t—”
His loud laugh stops me short. “I swear, if you say I don’t know you again, I’m going to prove all the ways that I do, in fact, know you.”
My eyes lock on his face as my mind reels. How dare he think he knows anything about me just because he’s been living with me for two weeks?
“Shall I run through the list?” he asks with a sardonic smile.
I take a deep breath before I lose my cool.
Or my cookies. “That’s not necessary.” I swallow back the bile that threatens to surge at the idea that Dane might know more than I want him to.
That he sees more than I’d like him to see.
As hard as I’ve worked to keep my emotions locked up tight, it’d be a shame to lose it all now in a moment of physical weakness.
“It scares you, doesn’t it?”
He doesn’t elaborate, forcing me to ask, “Does what scare me?”
“The idea that someone might want to know you.”
I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but I’m still right. You don’t want to be open or vulnerable because that means you’d also be subjected to the possibility of being hurt or rejected.” His words light a fire inside me. One that has me turning toward him with deadly aim.
“And what about you, huh? Mr. I have to keep the same routine every single day lest I die! You’re so afraid of veering out of your comfort zone or messing up your carefully crafted bubble that you blow up at the slightest inconveniences.
No one—and I mean no one —wants to feel like they’re ruining someone’s life just by entering their personal space. ”
The pain in my gut intensifies, forcing me to press a hand to my stomach. If we don’t make it back to his apartment in the next few minutes, I’m going to puke all over his precious car’s interior. Then he’ll really hate my guts.
Literally.
“Is that seriously what you think?” His question comes out a like a demand.
“It’s the truth, Dane. I’m sorry I’m not as neat as you or as disciplined or perfect, but that doesn’t make me some second-class citizen.”
“What? I’ve never said—”
“Whatever!” I snap. “Can we not do this right now? I feel like I’m going to—” Then I do. I puke all over the place. My lap, his dashboard, my beautiful wrap skirt and platform sandals. My ears ring so loudly I’m not sure if he’s yelling at me or telling me to hold on until he can make it home.
But of course my body doesn’t stop at just one humiliating regurgitation of tonight’s dinner. I heave over and over until there’s likely nothing left.
Warmth seeps through my jacket as Dane presses a hand into my back. I think he might be telling me it’s okay, but my ears are still ringing. And that doesn’t sound like something he’d do anyway. If anything, he’s probably reprimanding me for getting sick.
I slump against the passenger side door, eyes closed, moaning in pain. Who knows how long I sit here covered in my own filth. All I know is that when Dane’s car door opens, I jerk upright.
“It’s okay,” his voice sounds above me. I blink up at him, pain ricocheting through my skull. “I’m going to get you cleaned up, then take you upstairs.”
“No,” I whimper. “I don’t want you to.”
“You need me to, D.” He sighs. “Here, let me.” With careful deliberation, he crouches and slides a damp towel over my legs. I have no idea where it came from. Maybe I fell asleep for a few seconds while he ran inside, who knows?
After fiddling with the straps on my shoes, he slides my puke-covered feet out of each one.
I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I keep my eyes squeezed shut and pray for all this to be over with soon.
I’d like to pretend he’s just doing this to be nice to me, but I know better.
He’s trying to get me out of his car before I dirty the entire thing.
Everyone knows what comes after the pukes.
“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”
“Noooo,” I cry, plastering my hands over my face. “You can’t.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“ Dane .”
“Look, you’re too weak to walk. You can barely keep your head raised.” He rests one hand on my shoulder. “I need to carry you upstairs and finish cleaning you up.”
“You just want me out of your car,” I whine.
He pauses, probably laughing at me. “If admitting to that is what gets you to let me carry your stubborn butt upstairs, then fine.” He huffs what sounds like an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Yes. I want you out of my car, D. You’re ruining the leather.”
“Psh. I knew it.”
He lets out a laugh that makes his perfect minty breath fan over me, telling me he’s closer than I’d like him to be. “All right,” he says in his deliciously deep timbre. “I’m going to hook your arms around my neck, then lift you out.”
“Fiiine.”
Before I even register that his hands are on me, I’m extracted from the vehicle and hoisted into his arms. At another one of my whimpers, he pauses. “Are you going to get sick again?”
“I don’t think there’s anything left.”
He expels a long breath. “All right. Hang on. I promise I’ll go slow.”
I don’t respond except to turn my face into his chest. He smells so annoyingly good . Like fresh laundry and rain-drenched flowers. And here I am getting my foul digestive juices all over him.
“I’m sorry for puking in your car,” I say, half delirious from the pounding pain in my head. “And making you smell like me.”
I meant to say “making you smell like puke ,” but my addled brain can’t compute properly.
“I don’t mind smelling like you, D.” His rumbly voice ricochets through me like a warm caress. “Granted, you don’t smell the best right now. Usually you smell...” He lets out a harsh hiss of a breath. “Amazing. Addictingly amazing.”
My head hurts when I try to figure out what he means by that. “I’m tired,” I murmur as another pang hits my stomach. “And my belly hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m going to get you in bed as soon as I can, okay?”
“Hm.” I nuzzle deeper into the strong sense of warmth he offers.
Vaguely, I become aware that we’re entering the apartment. Then the brightest light known to man flicks on over my head as he lowers me to a cold, hard surface. I grumble a complaint. “You’re putting me on the toilet?”
“Just to get you cleaned up,” Dane assures me. “Do you think you can get out of these clothes yourself?”
I squint my eyes open to see the absolute mess I’ve made of myself. I can’t very well ask him to undress me, so I force a quick, “Yeah. I just need…” It takes a second for my brain to work. “Pajamas.”
He lightly brushes the hair away from my face. “Okay. Hang onto the sink while I’m gone.” He gently lifts my elbow to the cold porcelain ledge next to me. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, I slip off my jean jacket, then work my tank top over my head. With a groan, I toss it on the floor. Next, I cling to the sink so I can shimmy out of my skirt. When it catches on my hips, I let out a cry of frustration.
“Daria?” Dane’s voice sounds through the door. “Do you need help?”
I glance down at my half-dressed body. “No.” Putting all my energy into another swift tug, I finally get the skirt off. I push my clothes into a pile with my bare foot. “Do you have my pajamas?”
“Do you want a bath or shower first?”
I send a longing look toward the bath. Hot water does sound nice, but I’m not sure I can manage that on my own. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.
“Can you reach the towel hanging in front of you?”
I lift my gaze and yank the towel off the rack on the opposite wall. “Yeah. Got it.”
“Wrap it around your body. Let me know when you’re covered up.”
I try to do as he says, but I’m only able to lay it over the front of me. “Okay.”