Straight Flushed (Hot Pursuit #1)(73)

Oh God, the room.

I careened back to earth as reality struck. What was I going to do when we got back up there? Stephen would probably want to go for round two in the love making department. There was no way I could do that. I’d have to deliver a cliché line like I had a headache or something equally as lame. “The damn wine,” I’d say.

When it was time to leave, I stood and steadied myself on the side of the table. I had only nibbled at the food, and the wine had hit me harder than I would have thought. I’d been able to consume far more and felt less, but the human body is a fickle beast sometimes.

Stress, I thought.

As we walked back to the elevators, I felt like a marathon runner on the last mile of a race, compelling my legs to move. I knew they were fulfilling their duty only because I saw myself going forward, but I could barely feel them. But how can you not feel something that seems so heavy?

I focused on my breathing and my composure. I pushed myself physically almost every day of my life; surely I could get to my room after having some wine. I was on automatic and would go through the motions until I got upstairs; I refused to be a stumbling drunk. How had I become this drunk anyway?

Then, a dull pain started throbbing at my temples. Was this a sick joke, or was this some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy? The headache I was going to fake had actually arrived.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped inside. I stared at the numbers as we ascended; they blurred in my vision.

“I think the wine gave me a little headache.” I rubbed my temple and squinted, trying to focus on the red smears above the elevator doors.

“Is that what’s wrong?” He reached up and stroked my shoulder. “You’ve been a little off since you got back from the bathroom.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I nodded. “I guess I didn’t do such a great job hiding it, did I?” I tried to enunciate each word but I was slurring my speech.

“You sure that’s all it is?”

I don’t remember answering. My eyes rapidly darted from side to side, unable to focus on anything. I needed to lie down. I very casually leaned back against the elevator wall, but quickly realized I was farther away than I’d thought. I bet I was as graceful as a cow plopping down for a rest in a field—graceful yet cumbersome. I stumbled and my arms shot out, grabbing onto the railing for support. I giggled to hide my discomfort.

He reached out and held my arm to keep me from falling. “Whoa, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well all of the sudden. I think I ate something that isn’t agreeing with me.”

I’m sure he could see through my pathetic attempts to cover up the fact that I was wasted. Like butt crazy, pub crawl, college drunk wasted.

“Then let’s get you up to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I heard the words ring in my ears like they were coming from someone else’s mouth.

Time rolled in slow motion, and I became annoyed that we’d been given a suite on the top floor. When were we going to get there? The ride was taking forever. Finally, the last ding sounded and the doors opened on our floor. I stepped out onto the carpet only to learn that the tips of my toes each held a ten pound weight. It felt like I was marching. I raised my knees high, insisting my feet not drag on the ground, but when I lifted them, the extra weight had them plummeting back to the ground with hard clomps.

I don’t remember getting to the room and I don’t remember getting under the covers.



. . .



When morning broke, a single ray of the sun cut across my closed eyes and shot an explosion of knives into my head. I sat up and gasped, clutching both hands over my ears. I had a hangover from hell.

I looked around to get my bearings. I was in Stephen’s bed. The cold air around my bare skin had a hard bite. My dress was tossed into the chair at the foot his bed, balled up. I’d have to wash it to get the wrinkles out. I never would have done that. I glanced down at what remained of my attire. I was in my black, strapless bra and underwear. Stephen had undressed me. I never would have gone to sleep wearing this. I hated bras and they were the first thing to come off my body when I got home.

I clung to my head. My brain was going to burst through my ears if I let go, I was sure of it. I looked over at Stephen sleeping next to me.

Hey, at least he didn’t bail on me in the middle of the night again, ha ha ha, I thought, as if making a bad joke would ease my pain. It didn’t. No joke, good or bad, was going to take care of the misery pounding behind my eyes.

Stephen stirred then rolled over on his back. His eyes blinked open slowly. “Hey, you,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep. “How you feelin’?” He propped his head in his hand as he rolled onto his side.

I reached back with one hand to smooth my hair, but the pain was too much to bear. I quickly returned it to its spot on the side of my head. Yep, my brain almost popped out. “What the hell happened to me? The last thing I remember was getting off the elevator.” My words fell out of my mouth in a hoarse whisper.

“You were having some trouble walking. You stumbled into the wall and almost fell over, so I picked you up and carried you the rest of the way to the room. Kinda like old times.” He winked. “You were pretty out of it.”

“Oh my God.” I groaned. “I am so sorry. This is really embarrassing. This has never happened to me before. I don’t remember drinking that much.” Two glasses. Was that what I’d had? Little food plus wine was always a bad equation.