Be with Me (Wait for You #2)(50)

“Sleep, Tess. I promise”—-the bed shifted and I felt his lips press against my forehead—-“we’ll talk tomorrow . . . if your brother doesn’t kill me first.”

***

There was a small person living inside my head and it was banging on my skull with a sledgehammer. Moaning pitifully, I rolled onto my side and blinked my eyes open.

The small window by Debbie’s bed let way too much light in and I winced, pressing the heel of my palm against my throbbing forehead.

“Ow,” I moaned, sitting up. The quilt slipped down to my waist, revealing the clothes I’d slept in last night.

A soft laugh floated through the room. “I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”

My tortured gaze swung to the doorway. Debbie leaned against the frame, grinning. Mouth tasting like I made a series of bad decisions last night, I glanced at the clock. “Holy crapola.”

It was almost one in the afternoon.

She laughed again. “Did you overindulge last night?”

“Yeah,” I croaked.

Debbie pushed out of the doorway and headed to the small fridge. Digging out a small bottle of orange juice, she then grabbed another bottle off the desk. She walked them over to me and sat down on my bed.

My brain felt fuzzy, like it had grown tiny hairs during the night, as I watched her pop out two aspirins.

“Take them.” She handed over the OJ and aspirins. “It will help.”

I would take a shotgun blast to the head if it helped. Swallowing the pills, I followed it up with a healthy gulp of OJ.

“You’re officially a college student now,” she said, screwing the lid back on the aspirins.

“I am?” I officially felt like crap.

She nodded. “You’ve got your first college hangover. It’s a tradition.”

“It sucks.” I pressed my hand against my head. “Big time.”

“Hey.” She patted my bent leg. “At least you haven’t vomited.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “True.”

“What happened to you last night?” Debbie asked, twisting around and sitting cross--legged. “I saw you go upstairs, and then you never came back down. About an hour later, Cam came in looking for you.”

My eyes widened as last night came back in a rush. Cold doused my skin, and then heat.

Oh. My. God.

I had engaged in a bit of oral play with Jase.

Was this my life? A memory of his mouth and his tongue on me, in me, whipped through my brain. I flushed as my heart rate picked up. A different kind of ache filled my breasts, and then dipped much, much lower.

Yep. This was my life.

Turning swiftly, I ignored the fierce slice of pain between my temples and snatched my cell off the nightstand. I didn’t remember putting it there. Jase must’ve gotten it out of my pocket. There were no missed calls from Cam. I assumed Jase had gone back to the frat house and told him that he’d taken me home. And left out a lot of detail.

God, I hoped he did.

As much as I wanted Jase—-and I did want him—-I didn’t want to cause problems between him and my brother. Huh. Which would make having a relationship in the open difficult.

If we were even going to have a relationship.

There were also no missed calls or texts from Jase.

My stomach twisted, and I dropped the phone on the bed beside me. “I came back to the dorm,” I said finally.

“That much I figured. Did something happen to cause you to leave?”

“No.” I forced a casual shrug and took another drink. “I just wanted to come back.”

“Oh.” She bit down on her lip, and then she took a deep breath. “Erik didn’t say anything to you?”

“No.” I downed the rest of the juice. “Why?” Once I asked the question, I thought it could be because I called him a dick. Guilt rose. “Debbie, I’m sorry for calling him a dick. I just—-”

“Don’t apologize.” She waved her hand. “He can be a dick. Anyway, he went to use the bathroom not too long after you’d gone upstairs, and I was worried he said something to you.”

A lock of brown hair slipped out of her hair clip and brushed her forehead. She knocked it away. My mind was whirling, centered on Jase and that wonderful, wicked tongue of his, but I thought of the bruises I’d seen on her legs, and the way Erik talked to her.

I needed to say something to her. Tell her that I knew what it was like. Someone needed to step up because I knew personally that when no one did, it only got worse. My skin burned. It was hard, though. Even now it was difficult telling someone I’d been in a relationship like that. It was more than the guilt and the embarrassment. It was that . . . that f*cking fear that never really left, that festered like a rotten wound in the memories.

I averted my gaze to the empty bottle. “Debbie, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” She smiled as she tossed the bottle of pills up, catching it. “Ask away.”

Squaring my shoulders, I looked up. “Does . . . does Erik hit you?”

A second or two passed and then she laughed. Too loudly. “What? No. W--why would you even think that?”

I fiddled with the lid on the bottle. “Because he isn’t very nice and—-”

“Just because he says ignorant stuff every once in a while doesn’t make him an abuser.” She unfurled her long legs and shot off the bed. Folding her arms, she faced me. Her cheeks were molten. “He doesn’t hit me.”