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Roux handed him soap, shampoo, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and several washcloths. “I’ll call Butch and then help you clean up. Assuming you want my help.”
Her help? He always wanted her help and wasn’t too proud to admit it. “I’d appreciate your assistance.”
“Did you eat anything for dinner?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll order you some food too,” she said. “Something that’ll be gentle on your stomach.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the aftereffects of the alcohol or what, but emotion suddenly flooded him, choking him up. “I don’t deserve you, Red,” he said, “but I’m glad you’re mine.”
She pointed at him, a stern expression on her lovely, makeup-free face. “Don’t make this a habit, you hear me? I won’t put up with this bullshit.”
He nodded, thinking what a great mom she would make, and then wondering if she even wanted kids. He’d have to ask her sometime.
She left the bathroom, and he stuck his head under the flow of water, brushing his teeth first. How had she known his mouth tasted like ass? She’d probably smelled his breath, he thought with a wry smile. She definitely hadn’t offered him any kisses. Had he really dreamt that she’d come and undressed him earlier? It had seemed so real at the time. So real that he’d stripped off his own pants while he’d been dreaming about her. Or maybe he’d taken them off before he’d passed out on the bed. Had he shut off the television? He couldn’t remember. He shrugged, spitting foamy toothpaste into the drain. Hallucinogenic drugs had made him do some weird shit in the past, including climbing out of a five-story-high window when he’d wrongly thought his hotel room was on fire, but alcohol had never had such an effect on him. It made his head hurt to puzzle through the past couple of hours, so he reached for the shampoo and pushed his thoughts away. He’d actually done a pretty good job of not getting vomit all over himself, but he scrubbed his scalp vigorously just in case.
He heard a deep, muffled voice in the bedroom. Butch wasn’t only discreet and efficient, but also quick to respond. Steve figured when they fired Sam, they could offer Butch the guy’s exorbitant salary. Butch deserved to be better compensated for all the shit—and vomit—he had to deal with.
A few minutes later, Butch entered the bathroom with Roux right behind him.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Butch asked. “Your lady is really worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine as soon as I get some painkillers for this headache.”
“I’m not giving you anything until you tell me what you took.”
Butch focused on Roux for a moment. He probably wondered if Steve would be honest about his drug usage in front of her.
“I didn’t take anything. Just drank some Jack. Quite a bit of it. But I didn’t mix it with anything.”
“You’re sure? You don’t usually react to alcohol that way.”
“I’m sure.”
“I won’t be responsible for giving you a painkiller that will react with whatever you took earlier. You’re absolutely positive that you didn’t take anything else?” Butch spoke slowly, as if Steve didn’t understand English.
“Positive.”
Butch sighed loudly, but palmed him a couple of pills, which Steve tossed into his mouth and swallowed. They got stuck in his throat, so he tilted his face into the shower flow and forced down a drink of warm water.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re lucky I love you, you fucking pain in my ass,” Butch grumbled before slipping past Roux and out of the bathroom.
“Love you too, errand boy!” Steve yelled after him, and even though he couldn’t see into the bedroom, he knew that Butch was extending a middle finger in his direction.
“Maybe we should take you to the ER,” Roux said. Both hands were twisted in the hem of her shirt. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll be fine. I have the liver of a rock star. They’re indestructible.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Now are you going to get in here with me before I use up the hotel’s entire supply of hot water?”
She smiled. “I suppose we have time before your soup arrives.”
She closed the door and had just shimmied out of her leggings when Butch called, “Your soup is here. I’m leaving now.”
“Thanks, Butch,” Roux shouted through the door. “I’ll take care of him.”
“It’s about time I got some help around here,” Butch yelled.
“You know you love the challenges only I can offer you,” Steve hollered back, smiling to himself. He gave Butch a hard time, but the man was one of his favorite people, and not just because he saved his ass on a regular basis.
Roux slipped into the shower behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her face against his back. Her fingers sought the bullet on the bracelet he now wore around his wrist, and he could only imagine how upset she’d been when she’d discovered him unconscious. He knew she was afraid of losing him. He had to be more careful in the future not only for himself, but for her as well. He never wanted to cause her pain of any sort.
“Are you sure you don’t want a car?” he asked as guilt churned in his belly, and she laughed.
“No, I don’t want a stupid car. I want you, Steve. Only you.”
“A car is better,” he assured her.
“Not in my opinion.”
Silence stretched between them as she washed his back with a soapy washcloth. He sighed in bliss, the impotence problem he’d dreamt about while unconscious no longer an issue. He turned to face her and tilted his head, lifting his brows and then lowering his gaze toward the erect issue she’d created with her touch.
“Yeah, that’s not happening tonight,” she said, stepping out of the shower.
“What do you mean that’s not happening tonight?”
“I mean sex. It’s not happening.”
“Are you on your period?” His gaze dropped to look for traces on her inner thighs. “Because I don’t mind.”
“Now that you’re not dying, I realize that I’m pissed at you. Supremely pissed.”
He’d thought she was over her anger already. “I said I was sorry.” Had he? He couldn’t remember if he’d actually issued an apology or had just felt it. “I’m really sorry, Roux. This might not ever happen again.”
Apparently his joke didn’t amuse her. She scowled and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel before scooping her clothes off the floor and hurrying into the bedroom. He didn’t bother to rinse off or grab a towel before following her.
“Roux, don’t be mad. It’s our first night together in Europe. It should be special.”
“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you drank yourself to unconsciousness.”
He moved to stand in front of her, gingerly lifting his hands to cup her shoulders. He’d never seen her mad and didn’t know if she was biter. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she dropped her chin.
His heart froze in his chest. “Can do what?”
“Be with someone who drinks.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and took several deep and shaky breaths.
“If that’s how you feel,” he said.
She whimpered, and her arms shot outward, wrapping tightly around his back. He took it that she thought he meant they should break up.
“I won’t drink around you again,” he said, “and since I plan to be around you at all times, I guess that means I won’t drink at all.”
“I can’t ask you to give up drinking for me.” They both knew those kinds of promises rarely worked anyway.
“To be honest, I didn’t enjoy drinking at all today. I swear I won’t miss it.” He usually drank to alleviate boredom, or to allow himself to behave like the jerk everyone expected him to be, but when Roux was with him he was never bored, and the last thing he wanted to do was behave like a jerk. His big fat jerk of a mouth had already upset her once t
oday. “But I’d miss you. I’ve been missing you all day. Forgive me?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Give me another chance?”
She nodded again and then stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him. His head was still pounding—though slightly less than before—but the bed was freshly made, and her towel was quite simple to remove. With the slightest brush of his hand, the corner of the terry cloth slipped free and the whole towel dropped to the floor. She pulled away and squatted to retrieve it.
