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“Never. You just won’t bounce back as quickly,” she says, looking down at me.
I get to my knees and crawl to the bed.
Why the fuck is it so fucking high?
“Why did I get such a high fucking bed?” I grumble while trying to stand up to climb on.
“Probably because you are tall,” she chuckles as she helps me into bed.
I finally climb on after what feels like hours.
“I’m going to show you how much I want you just as soon as the room stops spinning. I’m going to fucking ravish you,” I slur.
“Okay handsome. Let’s get you comfortable,” she says, sounding like she’s just humoring me. Oh, I’ll show her.
I feel like she’s amused at something when she starts to take my clothes off, but I can’t really make out what.
She gets me out of my shirt and pants.
“The room is speeding up,” I choke out before I lean over the bed and puke.
There is a garbage can under me. How did that get there so fast? Fuck she’s fast. Like a ninja.
Who knew I was dating a ninja?
I’m getting Chase back for this. That’s for sure.
~
When I wake the next morning, I feel like complete death. My head is pounding. My mouth is fucking dry as shit.
“I’m dying,” I croak out.
Aubrey comes into the room smiling wide. She has bags of takeout that make me want to be sick, but I know from experience that the greasy food helps, so I try to suppress the urge to vomit all over everything.
“Good morning, handsome,” she says brightly and loudly.
“Your brothers are bad influences,” I grumble.
She decides to be mean and presses buttons on the remote I have for the darkening blinds I have on the window.
The room becomes extremely bright, causing me to hiss and let out a curse.
“Oh, please. You are old enough to say ‘no’ when my brothers say shots. You only have yourself to blame for your hangover,” she says and takes a seat on the bed.
“Are you pissed?” I ask, grabbing the coffee and Gatorade she hands me with painkillers which I quickly take.
“No, you can have fun with your friends. I was spending time with Christina anyways. Though you do make a very amusing drunk,” she tells me while taking breakfast sandwiches and hashbrowns out of the bag.
I don’t care how much money I have; this is always the perfect way to get rid of a hangover.
It may not cost a lot, but it always hits the spot.
“Did I do anything that I don’t want to know about?” I ask, cringing at the thought. Most of the night is a blur.
“Not really. You fell on the floor when you came to bed which was what initially woke me up. Then you complained your bed was too high, but eventually we got you up there. I took off everything but your boxers while you grumbled about ravishing me but, before you could complete that promise, you threw up. Thankfully, I knew that was coming and grabbed the garbage can before you threw up all over the floor,” she tells me.
“I’ll make it up to you when I don’t feel like death,” I promise her.
