Chapter 15 – August 19, 1993 – Erich
My head was pounding. It had been a while since I’d had to play that game, but I knew it too well—the way my racing heart would wake me in a cold sweat every hour of the night.
I’d overindulged. I knew I would have to ride it out.
There was soft breathing behind me, and I slowly became aware I was in a bed.
With Bambi. I prayed I hadn’t touched her or said anything to hurt her feelings.
But I wasn’t naked, so that was a good sign I hadn’t gone off the deep end.
And if she was still here—even on the opposite side of the bed—I couldn’t have said anything that awful.
I wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle me at my worst. Drunk me would’ve drowned in those Bambi eyes while doing something I’d regret—until I found a place to drop her off and run.
Not because I wanted to. She was growing on me. But I knew I could never look her in the eyes if we’d hooked up in this sleazy motel in bumfuck Oregon and I barely remembered it.
I let my eyes drift to her curled-up figure on the other side of the bed and felt a wave of relief when I saw she was fully clothed. The thought that I was in the clear gave my throbbing brain a moment of peace.
Without waking Camille, I eased out of bed in slow motion, careful not to make it squeak.
What had I said to her? I vaguely remembered dumping my life story.
I couldn’t remember if I’d said something stupid.
I knew I hadn’t kissed her—but I knew the thought had crossed my mind when she’d fallen onto the bed beside me.
I stifled an embarrassed groan as I stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I couldn’t remember if a cold shower or a hot one helped hangovers. The thought of a cold shower made my stomach grow uneasy, so I cranked the hot water as far as it would go and hoped for the best.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I chewed myself out for letting it happen.
That last glass of Jack Daniel’s never should’ve followed the first so quickly.
And why had I let myself drink it? I knew better.
I wasn’t there to party—I was there to get enough cash for the next stop.
Now, because of my stupidity, I’d probably have to make Bambi sleep in the passenger seat while we filled the tank and grabbed food.
I turned on the sink with a low, grinding squeak and cupped my hands under the water, bringing it to my mouth to ease the dryness and pounding in my head. The room started to spin again, and it took real effort not to spit out the metallic motel water the second it hit my tongue.
I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head, careful not to aggravate the headache from hell.
Steam began to fill the bathroom, fogging the mirror so I didn’t have to meet eyes with the dumbass staring back at me.
I reached for my toothbrush and toothpaste and scrubbed the taste of whiskey from my mouth until it hurt.
Sure—I’d admit it. I thought she was cute.
I kept thinking about her pouty lips and the way the corners turned in to reveal the kind of smile that stopped you cold.
Her thick lashes hid those seaglass-green eyes when she read those tacky mass-market romances in my passenger seat.
She’d bite her bottom lip when she focused, and even from the driver’s seat I could see her flush when she got to the dirty parts.
She wouldn’t last two seconds in my head. Her modesty, paired with everything she’d been through, would break her. Because sometimes I looked at her—perched on a barstool, legs crossed—and all I could think about was those legs wrapped around my waist.
I knew how that sounded out loud.
I spat the toothpaste into the sink, rinsed my brush, and tossed it onto the counter before unbuttoning my jeans.
I’d seen the way she looked at me, too. That’s what made it harder to keep myself in check.
Going from innocent church girl with a perfect GPA to everything she’d been through—it made sense she’d look at me the way she did.
I’d always figured one day someone would want to take me home just to piss off their parents.
Maybe not exactly her situation, but close enough.
After I finished undressing, I stepped under the scalding water and let it wash everything away. The steam helped clear the fog in my head from five back-to-back glasses of whiskey. I closed my eyes and let it take me for a minute.
I’d set the ground rule the second she opened up. She wasn’t Jack—and whatever her story was, it wasn’t my business. She didn’t owe me anything. She was off-limits. I’d only disappoint her. She wasn’t interested in someone like me. She was looking for freedom.
That, at least, I could give her.
So why did she have to be so damn tempting?
I swore under my breath as I grabbed the tiny motel shampoo bottle and squeezed half of it into my hand.
At least last night proved drunk me knew the rules too. Still, I’d never risk letting him near her again. I flinched at the thought—how one wrong move and he’d act on every impulsive urge, pinning her against the motel door and not letting her down until she trembled.
Those thoughts made me no better than the people she hated. The people she was running from. Even if I told myself it wasn’t malicious.
Sober me wasn’t much better. I was still drawn to the idea of giving in to whatever fantasies flashed across her face when she peeked at me from across the room. But I could hide behind short answers and sideways glances.
Distance. I’d keep my distance, so I didn’t become the very thing I was trying to protect her from.