Game On(32)

“Morning, Mama,” I said, struggling to sit up. I felt damp and rumpled in yesterday’s clothes, but I was glad to see that I hadn’t thrown up again once I arrived back at my room. The last thing I wanted was to leave the staff of this fancy hotel an indication that I was a drunk like my mother instead of the professional I aspired to be. But if last night was any indication, I hadn’t fallen that far from that particularly boozy tree. Like mother, like daughter, I thought, trying to swallow my own embarrassment and nausea.

“How’s Austin?” she asked. “Having fun?”

“Uh huh,” I said, realizing that fully formed sentences were going to be a bit of struggle until I had a shower and a bathtub’s amount of coffee.

“How’s that interview going?”

“Good,” I lied.

“Is that hot shot ball player being nice to you?”

“Uh huh,” I lied again.

“Have you copped a feel yet?”

“Mama!” I chided her, the effort making my forehead throb.

“I just saw him on the TV the other day,” she said. “And goodness, does that boy have a nice tush.”

I just shook my head, knowing it was no use trying to argue with her. Especially because she was absolutely right. Nathan did have a great tush. One that I was never going to be allowed within fifty feet of once news of my behavior reached the Register. I would be lucky if I ever got an assignment like this again. I’d probably be demoted, destined to deliver coffee and answer phones for the rest of my career.

Leaning my head back on the headrest, I tried to think of how I could salvage this situation, but I was out of ideas. This wasn’t something that was forgiven in journalism. This was very, very unprofessional. And worse, I had been mean to someone who’d tried to help me. I winced at the memory of everything I had said to Nathan. I was the one who had been the real jerk in that situation.

“You sound terrible, hon,” my mom said, reminding me that she was there. “Go splash some water on your face and pour yourself some whiskey.”

The thought of drinking any more alcohol made me to dry heave.

“Hair of the dog!” my mother said. “It works.”

“Mmhmm,” I barely managed. “I gotta go.”

“Good luck with Mr. Hot Ass,” Mama said and then hung up.

Even though I knew it wouldn’t help my headache, I pulled up my email to see if I had missed anything. To my extreme displeasure there was an email from my editor. Short, but to the unfortunate point.

“Please send notes and/or interview rough draft. Want to get an idea of how it is coming along.”

I stared at it for a few moments, my stomach twisting and churning. And this time, when I heaved, I had to race to the bathroom, barely making it as the rest of my evening was emptied out into the toilet.

***

An hour later, I was freshly showered and on my second cup of hotel coffee and just beginning to feel like a human being again when there was a knock at the door. Even thought I was pretty sure I had put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, the last thing I wanted was for the cleaning staff to come into the room and discover how much I had trashed the room in my drunken state. The bed especially was in an embarrassing state of disarray, sheets scrunched to the middle of the mattress, pillows and blankets strewn across the room. My sad, broken suitcase was leaning up against the wall, looking a little how I felt—defeated and unable to fulfill its purpose. I grabbed a robe and wrapped the terry cloth belt tightly around me. It was soft and cuddly, just warm enough for the perfectly air-conditioned room, and covered my black lace clad body from the gaze of whatever poor cleaning person was on the other side of the door.

Careful not to reveal too much of the room behind me, I eased open the door, preparing to apologize and ask them to come back later. But it wasn’t hotel staff on the other side of the door. It was Nathan.

My stomach dropped to my feet and for a moment I thought I might need to run back to the bathroom. I was sure my face was a pleasant tinge of green.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” was about as much as I could manage. I forced myself to close my dropped jaw. What was he doing here? And looking as good as he did. He was wearing his usual attire, jeans and a T-shirt, but something about the way he seemed to fill up the hallway, the scent of him, that wonderful clean, fresh smell wafting into the room, made him seem overwhelmingly male. Plus it didn’t help that I was practically naked underneath my robe. All I would have to do was loosen the belt, wiggle my shoulders and…

I realized I was staring and that he had asked me something.

“Sorry?” I shook my head, trying to clear away the naughty thoughts that had gotten me into all this trouble in the first place.

“I was wondering if I could come in,” he repeated. His expression was serious, but not angry.

“Um, sure, of course.” I opened the door and quickly turned and tried to organize as much of the chaos as I could in the span of five seconds. I managed to clear off a chair and a spot on the bed, but the rest was pretty much hopeless.

“Sorry for the mess,” I apologized, as he took a seat in the chair. I perched on the edge of the bed, very aware that I was very nearly naked. I hadn’t given much thought to the length of the robe, but now, with Nathan sitting in front of me, my wet hair drying into messy waves, I was very conscious of how much of my bare legs were visible. I tugged at the hem of the robe, hoping to cover at least the top part of my thigh. I noticed he was doing his best to avert his eyes, though there was a flush slowly spreading across his handsome cheekbones.