“I think she just needs to sleep it off.” Preston’s smooth voice states from my side. He’s always so close to me. I like it.
The house is toasty. I instantly wish we were back outside in the cold. My fingers pull at my clothes, but everything’s so tight and there are so many layers. I just want them off. The heavy peacoat has too many buttons. My fingers slip trying to push the giant buttons through the tiny slits. Preston steps in, undoing them for me, pulling my arms out, and hanging it on the coat tree.
He takes a knee and begins unlacing my snow boots, pulling my left foot free. My whole body sways. I’m going to fall. Preston’s strong grip steadies me upright, guiding my hands to his shoulders. “Hold on tight.”What a gentleman, always keeping me safe.My right foot pops free and I give his strong shoulders a squeeze. I wonder if he could bench press me, the ridges of muscle sure make me think so.
“I think you should probably leave the rest for the bedroom.” He winks and my cheeks heat.
A throat clears behind us. I roll my eyes. Thanks a lot, you big killjoy. “Clara, why don’t you go up with Nat?Shecan help you get to bed.” No one misses his emphasis on SHE. Preston stands and drops a gentle kiss on my forehead and a quick, “See you in the morning,” before he flees to the garage.
I turn on my heels, wobble, and scowl at Damion before locking my arm in Nat’s and pulling her up the stairs with me. She muffles her laughs with the back of her hand, so she doesn’t wake the whole house.
ChapterEight
If I ever wanted to know what being stabbed in the brain with an ice pick felt like, I know now. To add to the excitement, when I move an inch in any direction, the stabbing is accompanied by a lovely drum concert. Is this hell?
The closed curtains don’t offer any clues to what time it is. It must be morning, right? The murmur of inaudible conversation and the high-pitched strains of morning cartoons drift in from downstairs. A soft knock sounds like thunder on my bedroom door and Preston appears in the doorway, a coffee cup in one hand, breakfast plate in the other. Sustenance for the sinner.
“How you feeling?”
“I’m never drinking again.” Repeating aloud for what feels like the hundredth time since getting home last night. “How’d you make it past the gatekeeper?” I croak.
He walks over to my bed and sits beside me, placing the plate with French toast topped with whipped cream and candied nuts next to me. Enticing, but it’s the coffee that encourages me to sit up.
I slowly raise myself, wincing at the intensified headache before grabbing the coffee mug from him. He drops two little white pills into my other hand.Okay, Ibuprofen do your job.
“What time is it?”
“Noon. I would have let you sleep in longer but figured you should probably get something in your stomach.”
I nod a thank you. He really is sweet. “I’m so sorry for last night. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink,” I offer through a mouthful of Natalie’s signature French toast.
“I shouldn’t have kept getting you drinks,” he says apologetically. “Natalie told me this morning you didn’t even go out for your twenty-first birthday. Guess last night was a good makeup session.”
“Better to be hungover here than on campus in the middle of midterms.”
He nods in agreement. “How do you feel about a movie and some studying today? Natalie said the kids have a dress rehearsal before their big performance tonight so the house will be quiet.”
“That sounds perfect. As long as you don’t expect me to give you top-tier tutoring.”
“I think your outline and worksheets will do just fine.” He smiles down at me, taking the empty plate. Note to self, French toast is a must post-drinking binge. “Meet me in the living room when you’re ready.”
Peeling myself from the soft cocoon of my bed, I trudge for the shower. A small gasp leaves my lips when I see my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, enhanced by the mascara smeared across my cheeks. I’m a mess. The hot shower raining down soothes my head as the steam pulls the alcohol through my pores, washing the stench of bad decisions down the drain.
I throw on a pair of old sweats and a campus hoodie, my wet hair twisted into a messy bun. Slipping on my fuzzy slippers, I head downstairs, arms full of study materials.
Preston’s set up a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace that crackles with a warm glow. He’s pulled the pillows to the floor. A tray with the French press, steaming mugs full of more coffee, and snacks sit in the middle. Netflix is queued up on the tv. It’s the perfect lazy day.
Who is this guy?
“Feel better, stacks?”
“Much! You ready to get to studying?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
I organize the papers in front of him: note cards with the main themes of the required literature, cheat sheets with related questions and worksheets to test him. Hours pass, coffee flows, and Preston keeps his focus on the work; while I take a break in the middle ofIt’s a Wonderful Lifeto grab more snacks. It looks like we owe the kids another cookie baking day as I split the last one down the middle, handing half over to Preston.
The little white pills have done their job, and my headache’s dulled to an ignorable level. Our quiet oasis is suddenly interrupted by the kids blasting in through the front door, babbling excitedly about their showcase tonight. Charlie bounces around the living room on all fours, practicing her sheep sounds. Mav slumps down in front of the TV taking over the remote and skimming to a kids’ show I’ve never seen. Preston and I take our cue to clean up and return the dishes to the kitchen.