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“So did I,” he agreed. “But you insisted that I bring you back to my place.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Huh.” Swallowing down a mouthful of salt-and-vinegar goodness, I titled my head to the side and considered his cure, feeling my stomach settle second by second. “Sugar, salt, and paracetamol? I have to say, this is a pretty strange hair of the dog, Joe, but it’s a good one.”
“Family recipe,” was his wry response. “Perks of growing up with an alcoholic for a father and a mother with a penchant for benzos.”
“And a messy drunk for a girlfriend,” I offered, wincing when my eyes landed on the notable sick bucket next to my side of the bed. “I’m guessing that was for me, right?”
Joey smirked and I dropped my head in my hands.
“Oh god,” I groaned. “You had to clean up my puke.”
“It was the champagne,” he replied with a chuckle. “Or so you told me in between spraying us both in chunks in that Feely lad’s car on the way home.”
“I did?”
“Yeah.” He inclined his head to his T-shirt that I was sporting. “I had to put you in the shower when we got back here.”
“Oh, my sweet baby Jesus,” I wailed, mortified. “Stop laughing, Joe. It’s not funny. It’s horrifying.”
“It’s not a big deal.” He laughed, pulling my hands away from my face. “It’s not like you haven’t returned the favor a time or ten for me.” Shrugging, he added, “It was my turn to look after you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because you’re my boyfriend.”
“So? You’re my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriends are supposed to be sexy.”
“Molloy, I can assure you that you are insanely sexy.”
“I am?”
“Absolutely,” he replied and then choked out another laugh. “Especially when you have champagne bubbles coming out of your nose.”
“Oh, fuck right off,” I snapped, grabbing a pillow from behind my back and smacking him over the head with it.
“I did the best I could with your hair,” he added. “But I’ve never washed hair as long as yours before, so if I screwed up, don’t hold it against me.”
My heart squeezed. “You washed my hair?”
“I sort of had to,” he replied. “You sprayed your ponytail with chunks, too.”
“Oh god.” I pulled my damp hair over my shoulder and took a sniff, instantly recognizing the shampoo scent as the one he used. “That’s quite possibly the most romantically disgusting thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Come on,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll make you a cuppa.”
“Isn’t that against your rules?” I reminded him, throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed. “I mean, don’t you prefer us to stay in your room when we’re here?”
“Yeah, well, that was before.”
“Before what?”
