Wrong for You (Before You #3)(38)

“Dizzy. So dizzy,” she murmured into his chest while her hands clawed at the bare skin of his chest.

“Are you going to be sick again?”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, her voice both strained and alarmed. “I think so.”

“Hold on, Little Violet,” he whispered into her ear, skittering his fingertips along the clammy skin of her forehead.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he barked at Annette.

“Use this,” she answered, shoving a clear trashcan lined with plastic in his face.

With the trashcan in one hand, he sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling Violet in his lap.

Her stomach rumbled and once again she threw up the contents of her stomach. “So embarrassing.”

“How much did you let her drink?” he yelled at Annette. Didn’t she care what happened to her friend?

“Enough to forget what an * you are,” she shot back as she handed Violet a hand towel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That she may have been with me today, but you’re the reason she felt the urge to self-medicate.”

Well, f*ck. He didn’t have an answer for that. Violet was strong and caring. He hated that he held any responsibility for her current state. “Can you bring her a glass of water and some Ibuprofen?”

Her eyes narrowed, debating whether to leave them alone and he hated it. She sighed. “Fine, but don’t hurt her.”

“What the hell? I’m not going to hurt her.”

Annette’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Well then, don’t say anything stupid.” Without waiting for a response, she stormed out of the room, her sandals clicking against the hardwood floor with every step.

“Better?” he asked Violet, rubbing her back in long, even strokes.

Moving her head up and down ever so slightly, she said, “I just want to go to sleep before that happens again.”

Once he kicked off his soiled boots, he gently placed her on her side. When she shivered, he pulled the gray throw blanket from the bottom of the bed over her legs and placed the trashcan on the floor parallel with her head. “Close your eyes. Annette is going to leave water and Ibuprofen on your nightstand.” Propping the pillow up behind him, he leaned back against her headboard, crossing his legs at his ankles.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine now. There can’t be much left in my stomach.”

“I’ll leave when I’m sure you’re okay.”

She shook her head. “Annette’s here. She’ll stay with me.”

He realized that, but he wanted to take care of her and apologize for his * behavior this morning. “She’s probably tired and I live right downstairs, it’s easy for me to help you,” he said as his fingers ghosted along the side of her of her face, almost reverently. He felt like an ass wanting to touch her so much, but he couldn’t stop himself. Even sick and throwing up, she looked like an angel, his personal angel. And as the thought floated through his mind, his lips turned up at the corners.

Annette paused at the doorway, eyeing his boots on the floor. “Do you think you’re staying or something?”

“Just for a couple hours until I know she’s fine.”

“Ah, let me think about that.” She tapped her chin as she walked into the room. “No f*cking way.” She shook her head dramatically as she placed the glass and the medicine on the nightstand. When he didn’t make any move to leave, she leaned toward him, her eyes blazing with heat, probably trying to intimidate him, but she had him confused with another person if she thought that shit would work on him. He made up his mind. He was staying. Nothing she could do or say would change his mind.

“Out,” she demanded, flinging her hand toward the door.

“No.” When he saw the look on her face, he had to hold back his grin. She looked as though she were ready to spit at him as her head spun around on her body. He hadn’t seen such unbridled rage directed at him since he left his childhood home at the age of eighteen.

Her foot tapped rhythmically on the floors, echoing through the dim room. “Can I talk to you in the hall for a minute?”

“If you think it’s necessary.”

“I do.” She stomped toward the door, turning around at the entrance with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night.”

Before he got up to follow her, he ran his hand along the side of Violet’s head, tracing her features with his fingertips.

He stepped into the hall, closing Violet’s door behind him. She was almost asleep. From the little he observed of Annette, she could go nuclear on him in the next few minutes and he wanted Violet to sleep. “What do you want?”

“Funny, that was exactly what I planned to ask you, so why don’t you go first and explain why you’re suddenly interested in helping Violet.”

He lifted one shoulder nonchalantly and then dropped it. “I’m her neighbor. I’m available. I want to help.”

Annette snorted. “Look, I’ve known Violet my entire life and she doesn’t need your shit. She’s a nice girl and judging from your looks…”

Alec’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He might not look like the most wholesome guy, but he was far from a thug.