I only notice someone holding my hair while rubbing my back when the urge to chug out my stomach lining dissipates. I flush the toilet and put my head in my hands.
It’s just my luck.
The one man I open up to turns out just as I predicted. The hand that’s holding my hair lets go, and after a minute, a bottle of cold water appears in front of my eyes, and a wet washcloth presses against my neck.
Why does he have to act like a hero?
I hate him for making me feel like that. I hate him for lying to me about not having any family just like me. I hate him for making it impossible to hate him by following me into my apartment and looking after me when all I want to do is kick and scream and hate him some more.
“Are you feeling better, Natasha?”
Fuck you.“You should go back to your party.”
“I’m right where I should be,” he retorts.
“Whatever. I don’t want you here.” I jab. I can see the wince on his face in the reflection on the smooth tile.Good riddance.
“Are you going to be sick again?” he asks, ignoring my words.
“I’ll be sure to aim for your shoes if I do.” I smile up at him. I know my mascara has run down my face, and I’m probably looking like a demented racoon, but I honestly don’t give a shit. “I need to clean up.”
He just nods. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
“Whatever,” I say, pretending he doesn’t matter. Pretending I don’t care. But I do. As much as I’m trying to make myself believe my walls have been up all this time, the hurt after finding out he’s lied to me is too great for it to be true. I wash my face clean of makeup and brush my teeth before walking out of the bathroom and straight past him to my bedroom. I don’t even care if he follows me anymore. I just take off my clothes, put on a t-shirt and slide into my bed, hugging a pillow. I’m vaguely aware of another presence in the room before everything goes black, and I fall asleep.
I’m sick throughout the night. To the point that Hayden brings in a small bowl for me to use so that I don’t have to run to the bathroom each time. Halfway through the night, he forces Tylenol on me and as sick as swallowing the tablet makes me feel, I manage to keep it down.
He doesn’t leave my room, moving from a small chair in the corner of the room to the top of the covers in my bed at some point. I vaguely remember telling him to do so, feeling sorry for him, when seeing his large frame trying to fit into the tiny thing I use to lay out my clothes on each night before bed.
When the morning comes, I feel marginally better. And mighty embarrassed.
I can’t believe Hayden Frost spent the night in my apartment, and all he did was bring me water and clean my vomit. I’m such a catch.
Just as soon as that thought crosses my mind, I need to be sick again, this time getting myself out of bed and running for the toilet. What the hell did I drink last night? It’s not like I have anything else to vomit up. I feel exhausted and annoyed. Annoyed that the guy I seem to have feelings for turned out to be a liar. And annoyed that even though he is a liar, he stayed with me all night looking after me when he could have been at his party. With hisaunt.
Liar’s remorse, maybe?
I sigh and brush my teeth, then have a quick shower. When I come out of the bathroom wearing my fluffy bathrobe, my hair dripping wet, Hayden looks up from behind the counter of my kitchen.
There are pans on the stove and a mess all around as he busies himself, stirring something that smells vaguely familiar in one of the pots.
“How are you feeling?” His rich, deep voice drips over me like honey.
I shiver. “Like a million bucks. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Making you something to eat. I googled what you have in England for breakfast after a big night out. Who the hell eats baked beans for breakfast?”
I gape. “You’ve got baked beans?” I take a step forward, my mouth salivating at the thought.
“I got my driver to deliver all the ingredients. I have baked beans, sausages, bacon, and hash browns. How do you like your eggs?”
I take another step and the smell of bacon and sausages hits me. A smell that would normally have the angels singing and my tummy growling. This time, though, it has me running for the bathroom again. I groan against the toilet bowl as Hayden rushes in with a glass of water, pulling my hair out of the way. I gulp down the cold liquid.
“I don’t think this is alcohol-related,” I moan as my stomach churns again, bile rising in my throat.
“No. I was worried that might be the case. Do you think it’s a stomach bug?”
The concern in his voice has me turning to him. “Why are you here?”