Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(15)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Avery, you asshole.” He’s talking softly, but it’s still too loud. I try to cover his mouth with my hand, but he pulls it away. “She drank too much and she’s going to be sick.”

“She’s fine, man. Look at that smile. She can’t get enough of you. I wouldn’t be complaining if I was in your shoes.”

I want everyone to stop talking. Just wanna sleep.

I moan and bury my head further into Holt’s neck. He squirms underneath me.

“Get her some water before I kick your fucking ass.” His chest vibrates against my boobs when he talks. Feels nice. Manly.

“Okay, okay. Christ, take a fucking pill.”

I snuggle down. “Stoptalkin. Shh. Need to sleep.”

“Taylor.” His voice is softer, less cranky. “You need to get off me. Please.”

“Donwanna. Feels good.” I put my hand inside his shirt. Nice muscles. So nice.

“Fuck, Taylor. For the love of God, stop, before I do something really fucking stupid.”

His hands are on my hips, trying to move me. I move but not off him. I press down.

I feel him against me. Hard. God. So hard.

He groans again, his face in my neck. “Jesus…”

My whole body burns. Aches. Wants.

I move against him.

He swears, and it’s all sexy. His lips are near my ear.

“Cassie, not like this.” He grabs my hips and stills me. “Not when you’re drunk and won’t remember it tomorrow. Stop.”

I’m burning, but he won’t let me move.

I slump. Defeated.

“Cassie, look at me.”

Eyes open.

Oh, not a good move.

Everything is swaying.

Feel seasick.

“Cassie?”

The world is tilting. He’s watching me. Concerned.

“Cassie?”

“Mnotfeelingsogood.”

Stand. Almost fall over. Hands on me. Strong. Burning.

“Shit, woman. Slow down.”

“Mfine.”

Pull away. Stagger down the hall.

The bathroom. Close door. Toilet too far away. Crawl to it.

Stomach tightens, mouth opens.

Brown liquid and corn chips explode out. It burns coming up like it did going down. Stomach heaves till there’s nothing left, and I’m tired. So tired.

I close my eyes. Swirls of black and gray are there, and I’m on a boat in a storm, swaying and tilting.

When I open my eyes, I’m being lifted out of a car and he’s carrying me. He has my keys, and as soon as the front door opens, I make a groaning sound. Then I’m in front of the toilet, vomiting while he holds my hair and rubs my back. I’m crying and gross while he’s shushing me and wiping my face with a cool washcloth.

Then he puts me in bed. The swirls of black wrap around me, and I’m gone.

I wake up, and everything hurts. The sun is too bright. A stabbing pain shoots straight through my eyeballs into my brain. My stomach is crampy, and my abs feel like I’ve done a thousand crunches.

I groan and pull my pillow over my head, but there are hands pulling it away. I crack open an eye to see Holt next to me, holding out water and Tylenol.

“Take these.” He talks quietly, but even that’s too loud for my pounding head.

I try to sit up, but it hurts too much. I roll onto my side and take the pills with the full glass of water. It does nothing to flush away the horrible taste in my mouth. I slump back onto my pillow.

I must fall asleep again, because when I wake up I can smell bacon cooking and hear someone moving around in the kitchen.

I stumble to the bathroom and pee like I’ve never peed before. The lure of a warm shower is too much to resist, so I peel off my clothes and stand under the spray until I feel more or less human. I wash my hair and scrub my body, then wrap myself in a towel before brushing my teeth and tongue. Twice.

By the time I’m done, I feel a little better. My head’s still pounding and my stomach is unsettled, but I can function.

I open the bathroom door to find Holt standing there. He takes in my wet hair and my towel-covered body before he makes it back up to my face.

He clears his throat. “Uh … hey.”

“Hey,” I say. It’s so bizarre to see him in my apartment, I wonder if I’m still incredibly drunk.

“I … uh … made you something to eat,” he says and shoves his hands in his pockets.

I frown. “We have no food.”

“I went and bought some. You should eat. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay.”

He stands there, towering in the doorway, staring and biting the inside of his cheek.

“Uh, Holt?”

“Hmm?”

“You have to move so I can go to my room and put on some clothes.”

“Oh … right.”

He turns and walks back to the kitchen.

I throw on some sweats and run a brush through my hair. Then I’m sitting at our tiny dining table with Holt. He’s cooked eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There’s a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. It’s a truly bizarre situation.

“Uh … wow,” I say. “This is … wow. You … you made hash browns? From scratch?”

“Yeah,” he says and pops some egg into his mouth. “It’s not hard.”

“Maybe not for you. I can’t even boil water without a recipe.”

He’s watching me, and even though my stomach is refusing to get excited about food, I eat.

“Hmm,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash browns and bacon. “This is really good.”

“My mom’s a private chef. She’s taught me stuff.” He shrugs and keeps eating. Every now and then he glances up at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

When we’re done, he clears the plates as I sip my coffee. I don’t mean to, but I stare at his ass as he washes the dishes.

I shouldn’t stare at his ass. No good can come of it. Still, he’s being nice to me, so I decide to be nice to his ass and allow myself to notice how hot it looks in his jeans.

He turns around to lean against the sink and without planning it, my focus is now firmly on his crotch.

He catches me staring. I grab my coffee and take a huge gulp, but it goes down the wrong way. I choke and cough.

“You okay?”

“Yep.”

Smooth.

No wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.

“So…” he says, and gestures to my phone on the kitchen bench. “Your roommate called to see how you were and to tell you she’ll be home later.”