Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
I’m never drinking again…
At least, that’s what I told myself after spending my morning hugging the toilet.
I’d woken up feeling like a knife was piercing my skull. I sat up, finding that I was alone in bed. Before I could ask André why he was on the couch, I was running to the bathroom.
And that’s where I currently sat. I heaved again, fire burning through my nostrils with the repeated taste from the bourbon.
“Shh,” André soothed, pulling sweaty hair away from my face. “It’s alright darlin’.”
He’d hardly left my side all morning, keeping me cool with a wet washcloth and consistently refilling the water that I couldn’t keep down.
Though after that last bout of vomiting, I finally felt like I could breathe. I grabbed the glass next to me, taking cautious sips as I leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, baby. It happens to the best of us.”
I still wasn’t confident enough to leave the bathroom, so André and I sat there until I’d successfully finished my water—and hadn’t brought it back up.
“I’m so sorry.” I was so embarrassed.
André laughed. “Don’t be sorry, baby. It happens to everyone.”
“That doesn’t make it any less horrifying.” Scratch embarrassed. I was mortified.
André only helped me to my feet, coaxing me into the shower and helping me clean up.
“Why’d you sleep on the couch?” I finally asked as he dried me off.
“You were very, very drunk. I didn’t want you to wake up to a strange man in the bed with you.”
My first reaction was to deny that I’d ever do that, but it had happened… more than once. Instead, I offered him a banal smile and thanked him.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked, offering me a clean pair of sweats from my stuff.
Surprisingly, my stomach rumbled. In the close, quiet quarters, it was loud enough for André to hear. “I don’t know how the hell I’m hungry,” I muttered, hunting for a t-shirt.
“Well, you did just expel the entirety of your stomach.” I glared, and he changed course. “Why don’t I show you my favorite cure for a hangover?
“Why does that sound suspicious?”
He laughed and pulled a pair of jeans from the closet. “It’s not, but it does involve going out. You up for that?”
With a deep breath, I nodded, sipping at another glass of water while André got himself ready.
It wasn’t long before we were walking down to the parking deck, and André had me back in the passenger’s seat of his Aston Martin. I dozed against the window as he drove across town, only opening my eyes once the car stopped.
We were outside a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant. “What can this place do for my hangover that your bed can’t?”
“You’ll see,” he said with a smile, taking my hand the moment he could.
It suddenly didn’t matter. The way André’s hand felt in mine? I’d let the man lead me anywhere.
Including inside that restaurant and to a table in the corner. He left me sitting there with a kiss to my forehead, muttering that he’d be right back. I watched him go to the window, order, and when he returned he sat a cold ginger ale in front of me.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he said, fidgeting with his own drink.
“That’s not ominous at all,” I quipped, tossing him a grin.
“I have a work function next week, and I want you to come with me.”
“That means I’ll meet all your coworkers?” I asked nervously. “As your… boyfriend?”
“Not all of them—that would take forever.” He relaxed me with a smile. “But yes, as my boyfriend. There will be a lot of people there, but you don’t have to meet all of them.”
André paused to let me respond, but my face must have given away my fear.
“I understand if you’re not ready.” He took my hand, soothing me by drawing soothing circles on the back of it. “There’s no pressure, you’re more than welcome to stay in if you want to.”
“I didn’t bring anything to wear to something like that.”
“Would you let me worry about that?” Before I could protest, he continued. “If we’re going to date, and you’ll be coming to work events with me, you’ll need a decent suit. When’s the last time you owned one?”
“I don’t think I ever have,” I confessed. “Unless you count the Easter ones from the grocery store.”
André threw his head back and laughed. “Now that’s a picture I’d kill to see.”
I reluctantly agreed—so long as the price tag didn’t have a comma—but the whole idea still made me nervous.
I wasn’t from his world and as I looked down at myself, the fact was only made more obvious.
André was the type of man that oozed rich, and my clothes were very obviously old and tattered.
It was as if I wore a sign that said I’d come from a history of neglect and abuse.
André’s t-shirt was immaculate; not a spot or wrinkle to be found. The jeans he’d put on were just as perfect. Mine were old and faded from years of use. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought new clothes for myself. The fabric was so thin that I was surprised they hadn’t disintegrated.
In the time I’d zoned out studying every stitch of his clothing, André had stood to collect our food and brought it back to the table. He set mine in front of me, and my mouth watered.
Just what I needed: the greasiest, fattiest burger I’d ever seen.
I couldn’t help but immediately reach for it, taking a huge bite.
I grunted, grease dripping down my chin.
André handed me a napkin and I mumbled something that resembled “thank you.” My mouth was too full for more than that.
My stomach was instantly settled, and I hummed.
“Told you,” André said, laughing. “Best hangover cure ever.”
Garbling around a mouthful of food—classy, I know—I told him, “You know you’re legally obligated to bring me here for every hangover now, right?”
“Noted.”
We fell into silence, both stuffing our mouths. Every now and then, André would hand me another napkin. When he nudged my drink toward me, my eyes lingered on his expensive watch glinting in the sunlight. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”
“No, that’s not it.” I set my food aside. I was adamant about not being kept; about making it clear that I wasn’t using André for his money, but I definitely couldn’t afford a whole new wardrobe. That said, asking André for new clothes felt ridiculous.
“David, you’re worrying me. What is it?”
“I want to ask you something, but I have a condition.”
“Okay.”
“You have to let me pay you back for it.” André’s brows furrowed, but I continued before he could question me. “Before I say what it is, I need you to agree to that. I don’t care if it takes me twenty years, I’ll pay back every penny.”
“What is it?” André asked skeptically.
“Some new clothes,” I blurted, rambling on. “Maybe a haircut. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and it’s—”
“Hey…” André silenced my tirade by taking my hand again. “Of course. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I told you: whatever you need, you can have it.”
I glanced down at the empty tray in front of me. “Even another burger?” I muttered, attempting to squash the anxiety churning my stomach.
“You can have as many as you want.” André’s green eyes sparkled. “Tomorrow, once you’re feeling better, we’ll do it all.”
I relaxed, albeit slightly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” André brushed a kiss across my knuckles, standing to deliver on his promise of a second burger.
The next morning, I found myself sitting in the reception area of a barber shop that looked way too expensive. Then again, I was going to be paying André back whether he liked it or not, so I supposed it didn’t matter.
I didn’t think I’d ever had my hair cut professionally. Mom was the queen of kitchen table cuts when I was growing up and once I moved out, I’d always done it myself. The less hair I had, the less Regan could latch onto.
I was working through a knot near my temple when a petite Latina woman walked up to André.
Jet black ringlets were piled into a messy bun on top of her head, that just about reached André’s shoulder.
He stood to greet her with a hug. “I’ve known you for ten years and you’ve never let me touch your hair.
I don’t know what you could possibly be doing in my shop. ”
“This is my boyfriend, David.” I didn’t miss how the woman’s gaze darted to me in surprise. “He could use a little TLC.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” She looked at me, giving me a quick once-over. “Never thought I’d see the day that this one settled down. I’m Ana. Come with me.”
I stood on shaky legs, fearfully looking at André. “I’ll be right here,” he assured me.
I followed Ana back to her chair, purposely not looking at anyone else. I knew they were quietly judging me for how disheveled I looked. The only thing I wanted to do was turn and run out, but I remembered why I was there.
I needed to build my life without Regan.
I sat down in the seat and flinched—but it was just the cape being put over my shoulders. Ana tucked some tissue around my neck, then grabbed the spray bottle. “Do you know what you want to do?”
I swallowed hard, inhaling sharply when the cold water hit my neck. “I don’t know… just fix it?”
Ana laughed, a light, bubbly sound that made me smile. “I’ve got you. Just relax.”
With that, I closed my eyes and let her work. Scissors snipped, and clippers buzzed. Locks of hair fell to the cape and around my face and with each one, I felt a little bit lighter.
Before I knew it, Ana used a blow dryer to blast the irritating pieces away, and brushed off my neck. “Okay. Have a look.”
Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, blinking to restore my vision. I let out a sigh of relief.
Gone were the stringy, dirty blond dead ends.
They’d been obliterated, giving way to the darker color beneath.
The lines were neat around my ears, and my hand followed the curve around the back of my neck.
I ran my hand through the longer strands, amazed when it fell right back into place. “It’s perfect.”
“It really shows off that adorable face of yours.”