True (True Believers #1)(6)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Which was when I knew I was even more drunk than I realized and I needed to get away from him before I sat there blinking at him like a baby owl indefinitely. Before I put some sort of hero worship onto him that he might deserve, but didn’t mean a damn thing. Before I substituted one pointless crush for another.

I shoved open the door, half falling out, clinging to the handle and the remnants of my dignity, like he could hear my stupid thoughts. “Thanks,” I said over my shoulder, barely glancing back as I exited the car, clutching my bag.

There was no response, and when I struggled to slam the heavy door, which seemed to weigh a million pounds and required more coordination than my icy fingers had, I realized that he was just staring at me. There was a cigarette in his mouth, and he was lifting the car lighter up to it, his hand guiding it to his destination without thought. As he sucked on it to catch the paper and tobacco on fire, his eyes never left mine.

The smile was gone. There was nothing but a cool scrutiny.

I shivered.

Then I walked as fast as I could to my dorm, digging in my bag for my swipe card.

Once inside, I paused at the front desk to check in and I glanced out the front doors.

His car was still there, and I could see the shadow of his outline, the tiny red glow of his cigarette.

***

“How are you feeling?” Kylie asked, coming into our room with more noise than could possibly be necessary.

I pried my eyes open and gave a mumbled, “Like shit,” before crawling back under my blanket. I had woken up at five in the morning and had gone into the bathroom we shared with the room next door to throw up. It had shot out like a garden hose on high, and I had slid down onto the cool tiles, regretting my lack of dinner, regretting those stupid beers that I’d only had because I was nervous being around a guy who had turned out to be a douche bag.

None of it was logical. I didn’t do stupid things, as a rule.

I was paying for this one. And after crawling back to my bed, soaked in sweat, I had slept restlessly off and on for hours. I had no idea what time it was when Kylie and Jessica came back, and I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to die. I would dedicate my body to science, and they could study the effects of cheap beer on socially awkward college sophomores.

“Do you want anything?” Jessica asked.

“A gun to shoot myself.” My head felt like someone was repeatedly taking a sledgehammer to it, and my stomach felt like the lining had been manually torn out by werewolves, and replaced with maggots crawling up my throat. And I wasn’t being overdramatic. I felt like ass. Like two-day-old roadkill. Like chewing gum on the bottom of a chicken’s foot. That’d been hit by a car.

My bed creaked and sank as one of them sat down by my feet. Even that small motion had me gagging.

“We’re going to lunch. Do you want to come with us?” Kylie asked.

I didn’t even bother to answer that. It hurt to move my mouth, and that was possibly the stupidest question I’d ever heard in my life. I wouldn’t go to lunch if a million dollars were offered along with a guaranteed Liam Hemsworth make-out session.

“Then we’re going to Zumba class.”

The Gross National Product direct-deposited into my bank account couldn’t get me to a Latin dance class. I grunted, wondering why they were so clearly not hungover. Then I remembered that they had spent the bulk of their night getting laid, not getting plastered.

Feeling bitter, I drifted back into a sweaty sleep.

When I woke up, the room was dark and I was disoriented, but the pounding in my skull had abated slightly. The TV was flickering in the corner of our cramped room, and I sensed that Jess or Kylie was still sitting at the foot of my bed, back against the cinder block wall.

“What time is it?” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

“Seven. How are you feeling?”

Holy shit. That was a guy’s voice, not one of my roommates’. I half sat up, heart suddenly racing. It was hard to see in the dark, and the sudden motion made my stomach roil, my hair in damp clumps on my forehead.

Oh my God. It was Tyler, just propped up casually, legs sprawled out, his feet dangling over the side in nothing but socks.

My tongue felt thick, and I was suddenly aware that I wasn’t wearing pants. I had collapsed into bed in all my clothes except for the rain boots, and when I had gotten up to be sick, I had peeled off my jacket, abandoning it in the bathroom. Then in bed, I had clawed my way out of my jeans with shaky hands, so that now I was in a tight, wrinkled, wet T-shirt and panties.

With Tyler sitting on my bed watching Family Guy like nothing about this was abnormal. A quick glance around showed we were alone.

“Drink this,” he said, reaching over and pulling a bottle off my desk. The flashing colors from the TV played across his frame, showing the pull and strain of his bicep muscles as he reached. The black of his tattoo caught my attention, but it was too dark to see what it was.

Propped on my elbow, I was totally embarrassed at how shitty I knew I had to look, but I didn’t have the physical strength to jump out of bed and fix it. I didn’t have a functioning brain, either, it seemed. When he held some kind of power drink up to my lips, I swallowed a sip. The cool, sweet liquid felt fantastic and cut through the thick phlegm that seemed to have been spray-coated over every inch of my tongue and mouth. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” He set the bottle back down. “You’re dehydrated. You’ll feel better once you can keep some liquid down.”

This was so weird. Like off-the-charts weird. Why the hell was he hanging out in my room while I slept the restless, sweaty sleep of the hungover? The beer seemed to be leaching out of my pores, and I smelled like leftover Chinese food.

“Where are Jess and Kylie?” I asked.

“At dinner.” He shifted and the bed creaked. “I’m going to turn the light on so cover your eyes for a second.”

I fought the urge to hiss when he flicked on my desk lamp, and my dry eyes dilated. I couldn’t prevent a little moan, though. “I’m never drinking again,” I said as I fell back onto my pillow.

“Everyone says that. Few live up to the vow.” There was more rustling, and then suddenly he produced a saltine-cracker pack. “You should eat a cracker.”

I wasn’t used to having someone take care of me, and the fact that it was a hot guy who was having sex with my roommate was just creepy. I did take the pack, though, and tore open the plastic so I could nibble on a corner of the cracker. It tasted like shredded cardboard, and I gagged a little. Tyler was right there with the drink again, and having a bad boy as a nursemaid made me start to wonder if I was actually hallucinating. Maybe this was some sort of elaborate roofie-inspired fantasy.