Vomit.
And no fucking clue what to do with it all.
I glance around the room for any last minute supplies I might need, since I plan to be stuck about two minutes from now. I grab the TV remote and toss it to the bedside table, then my cell from my handbag in case he rolls over and smothers me in my sleep.
Climbing to the top of the bed, I plump the single pillow behind my back and sit against it with a huff. Reaching for my things – the bucket, the wet towel, the gun – I set it all out beside me, then open my legs and grab him under the arms.
“Wake up, Kane. Help me.”
Just like last time, he shakes his head, sending lines of sweat dribbling along his brow. “Sick.”
“Come on. Put your head between my legs. You have my permission.”
Snickering, he rouses enough to worm along the bed. Grunting and steering him, I keep him moving until his head rests between my boobs and his back on my pelvis. As soon as he’s in place and my heart races as fast as his, I grab the towel and use it to wipe his brow. “Sleep now, Kane. I won’t let you down.”
Grabbing the TV remote, I flick the small screen on, then reach out and flip the lamp off.