“Get her on the sofa!” a woman yells.
I’m cocooned against a solid chest when I open my eyes. The world is spinning, and I’m forced to close my eyes again as the nausea hits me.
“Is she drunk?” I hear someone ask.
I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman; the voice sounds far away.
“No, Franny, she hasn’t had anything to drink at all,” Caine barks. “Everyone out!” he yells as I feel myself settle on something cool, soft yet firm. “I said, get out!” Caine bellows again.
I feel myself wince at his obvious anger.
“Here’s some water and ginger ale,” a deep male voice says.
“I thought this was supposed to be a family dinner?” Caine barks.
“Well, you know your mother,” the man says.
I open my eyes and see Franklin, but the room spins again, and I have to shut my eyes. Something’s very wrong with me.
“She’s awake,” I hear Franklin say.
I feel a hot hand on my face. He’s too hot! I’m too hot.
“Sweetheart?” Caine says. “Can you drink some ginger ale, baby?”
He places the bottle at my lips, and I take a sip and then another. “I should have made you eat,” he chastises himself.
“Son, I’m going to get a thermometer,” Franklin says.
“I don’t feel so good,” I whisper as a random chill moves through me.
“You look pale; your lips have no color,” Caine says softly, tracing my lips with his fingertips. “Is it the party?” he asks.
I want to giggle, but my head is pounding. I open my eyes and notice the lights are dim in here.
“It didn’t help, but I think I may have the flu or something. I don’t think I made a very good first impression,” I whisper, shutting my eyes again.
I don’t know if I could feel more embarrassed. Besides fainting, Idefinitely didn’t come across as friendly.
“They can fuck themselves,” Caine mutters. “You’re not feeling well, they’ll get over it.”
“Can I have more ginger ale?” I ask, raising my arm and trying to sit up.
My arms feel like they weigh a million pounds all of a sudden, and the room begins to spin as I sit up. My stomach lurches and twists.
“Hey, stay down,” Caine says, wrapping an arm around me.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I choke as sweat breaks out over my upper lip.
Caine jumps up and grabs a waste bin and places it at my face just in time for me to turn on my side and empty the contents of my stomach.
The mortification hits me hard when Caine combs back my hair, and I hurl again.
“Call Kyle,” I whisper between episodes. “See if something’s going around.”
Caine grabs his phone and calls, placing it on speaker just as I heave again.
“Did she dump you already? So, you called me drunk and puking?” Kyle asks with a chuckle as he answers the phone.
