Through My Window(Hidalgos #1)(50)

And then I heave.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I vomit gloriously in front of the guy I’m in love with. This clearly qualifies as the most disgusting and embarrassing moment of my life.

Ares holds my hair as I vomit all over the wooden floor of the balcony. Tears well up in my eyes from the effort of each gag. When I finish, I feel like I’ve drunk another whole bottle of alcohol. I can’t even hold my body up; I’m like a rag doll. Apparently, vomiting makes me more drunk. I always thought it would be the opposite.

Everything is a blur, and Ares’s voice becomes so distant.





TWENTY-SIX


   The Story



- ARES -




I grimace as I watch Raquel finish vomiting. I’m holding her head because apparently she can no longer keep her body standing or sitting or upright in any way. I take her face in my hands and blow on it to cool her down. Her eyes are half-closed, and she gives me a goofy smile.

“It smells like cigarettes and mint chewing gum,” she says, chuckling. “Like you.”

I remove a few locks of hair that have stuck to her face. She tries to slap my hand but fails, her arms are almost completely unresponsive. “You don’t have to help me, Greek God, I’m fine.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Get up.”

“Just leave me here, I’ll be fine.”

I can’t leave her, even though she’s not my favorite person after seeing her kissing that nerd.

Don’t think about it, Ares.

Letting out a tired sigh, I help her stand up, and then I bend down a little to throw her over my shoulder. She mumbles as I walk through the balcony door. Carrying her across the hallway isn’t difficult. She doesn’t weigh much, and I’m used to carrying heavier weights during team workouts. I walk into the only room that hasn’t been used as a motel today. How do I know that? Because my friends are inside, playing video games and drinking. The first one to see me when I walk in is Marco.

“Let me guess.” Marco makes a dramatic thinking pose. “Raquel?”

“Who is she?” the brunette I brought in earlier asks, sitting on Gregory’s lap.

Luis raises his hands in ignorance. “Ask Ares, I still haven’t figured out what those two are playing at.”

I give them all a serious look. “Everyone out, now.”

I wait to make sure they leave, and then I take Raquel into the bathroom and drop her into the bathtub. She just sits there, with her head leaning against the side wall.

“You vomited on your clothes,” I say, pulling the white flowered T-shirt she’s wearing over her head. She protests, but I manage to get it off. Her breasts are exposed, looking as perfect as I remember them, not too big, not too small, just the right size for her body.

This is not the time, Ares.

I pull her skirt down to her heels. My eyes travel down the length of her legs. Her underwear is black, contrasting nicely with her skin. I swallow thickly, focusing on what I’m doing. I turn on the faucet, and she lets out a scream as cold water pours over her head.

“Cold-cold-cold,” she stutters, her wet hair sticking to both sides of her face.

Without looking at her, I run the soap over her body, my eyes trained on the wall on one side. I want her more than I care to admit.

After helping her to awkwardly brush her teeth in the bath, I put a towel around her body and carry her over to sit on the bed. “Ares . . .”

“Huh?”

“I’m cold.”

She must be, with all the people in the house, the air-conditioning is on full blast. Raquel seems to have regained a little more strength after the bath. She can at least sit up on her own. I help her dry off and then she throws the wet towel on the floor.

My eyes travel down her naked body, and I need all my self-control not to hug her. I have missed her so much.

She’s drunk, Ares, I think, struggling with myself. I unbutton my shirt quickly.

Raquel laughs. “What are you doing?”

I take it off and put it on her, buttoning it up. My shirt fits her so well. “Lie down, you’ll get over it if you get some sleep.”

“No, I’m not sleepy.” She puts her arms across her chest like a spoiled child. “Tell me a story.”

“Just lie down.”

“No.”

She looks determined. I force her to lie down, and I sit next to her, leaning my back against the headboard.

“Tell me a story,” she repeats. She sticks to my side, running her hand across my abdomen, hugging me, and I let her because it feels fucking good to have her beside me. I caress her hair, deciding what to say.

She’s not going to remember this tomorrow. The freedom of being able to tell her anything motivates me, and I start talking. “Once upon a time there was a boy who believed his parents were the perfect couple, that their home was the best in the world.” I smile to myself. “A very naive child.”

She gets closer to me, her nose brushing against my ribs. “And what happened to that child?”

“The boy admired his father, he was his pillar, his example to follow. A strong, successful man. Everything was perfect, maybe too perfect. The father traveled a lot for business, leaving his children and wife alone.” I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “One day, the boy came home early from school, after getting an A on a difficult math test. He ran upstairs to show her, he wanted her to be proud of him. When he entered her room . . .”