“Define good,” I say, placing my hand on my stomach. Then I rush over to some shrubs and bend over just in time to throw up.
“I hope none of your paparazzi friends are hiding in the bushes,” Zane says, attempting to crack a joke.
“Well, if they are, they might be putting in their two weeks,” I say, taking a deep breath and letting it back out. “I must look like hell.”
Zane offers a grimace. “You look beautiful, actually,” he states very matter-of-factly. My heart does a little cartwheel in my chest. “But you are smelling a little ripe.”
And just like that, Zane Calloway does what he does best and ruins the moment with his signature sarcasm.
Then he smiles. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. I think a hot cup of coffee and an even hotter shower are in order.”
I can’t argue with that. What I can argue with, however, is Zane insisting on helping me with all of it.
“Zane…I really appreciate you helping me, but I am perfectly capable of showering myself,” I say as I attempt to unzip my dress.
“Maybe so, but first you have to get that dress off,” he says. “Unless you plan on showering with it on.”
“You know I’ve never understood why they make dresses so easy to get into but so difficult to get out of,” I say.
“I think they assume you’ll have someone to help you unzip it at the end of the night,” Zane says, coming up behind me and pressing my hands away so he can do the honors.
“Sounds like a lot of people assuming a lot of things.” I mumble as he unzips me. “Alright. I’m free. Now can I take my shower, please?”
“By all means,” Zane says, waving in the direction of the steaming water. Then he leans against the counter, and I stare at him, eyes wide and obvious.
“Aren’t you going to leave?” I ask.
“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” he says.
“Are you serious?” I snap and then I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Considering you can’t take a step without nearly toppling over, yeah. I think I’ll stay,” he says.
I open my mouth to argue again, but it gives me the distinct sensation that I might puke again. Considering how flattering it was the first time I did it, I think I’m going to do my best to keep it down.
I do my best to shower quickly, which is easier said than done. Thanks to the scalding water and coffee, I seem to be sobering up rather quickly, but headed face first into the world’s worst hangover.
“God,” I mutter as I do my best to slip into pajamas. “What did she put in those drinks?”
“Well, you know bartenders. They like to add alcohol to the drinks,” he jokes, but I’m not laughing.
“It takes more than three gin and tonics to green my gills this badly,” I tell him.
“Well, that makes sense considering you had two shots before the gin and tonic started flowing,” he says. I stare up at him from my bed.
“Shots?”
“Yeah.”
“I did shots?” I ask.
“According to who? Because whoever it was, they were lying,” I say.
“The bartender,” he says, and I lay down, nestling into the luxury fluff.
“What does she know?” I mumble.
“Right, she was only the one pouring the drinks,” he says with a small chuckle.
