Page 58 of My Unfinished Heart

“You already know way too much about me,” I tell him while I absorb as much of his warmth as possible.

“And I still want you so fucking bad.”

Wow. This night has already exceeded my wildest dreams. And to think today started out so shitty. “You don’t think I’m crazy? Like a sociopath? Or a stalker?”

He laughs. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for bad boys.”

I lie back and throw my arm over my eyes to give us both some space and breathing room. “I climbed a tree in the middle of the night and broke my knee.”

“You think it’s broken?”

“Isn’t it?” I ask.

“Does it still hurt?” His willingness to go along with my subject change makes me think maybe he isn’t quite as ready to be alone in a hotel room with me as he says he is.

I might not be either, but there’s plenty to learn without dragging sex into the equation. “Yeah, it hurts. It’s the size of your head.”

“Maybe the gift shop’s open, and I can get you some Advil or something.”

The idea of swallowing a pill makes my stomach clench. It’s another reminder I’ve been drinking all day. He was right earlier. Our timing is tragically off. “I think I might need a minute.” I start to sit.

He sits with me, backing off. “You all right?”

“I’m trying.”

“How much did you drink tonight?” he asks.

“It wasn’t just tonight. I started drinking after you left this morning. I feel like shit.”

I glance at him, and as much as he looks disappointed, there’s a faint hint of serves you right, asshole in his gaze.

“I’ll get you some Advil.”

“The gift shop’s closed. It’s three a.m.”

“It’s a nice hotel. We’re in a suite. They’ll probably bring you some. I want you to feel better. It’s not like we have a ton of time.”

He’s right. I paid for the nicest room they had available, and it ended up being the premier executive suite. It’s fucking huge, and it probably cost a lot. They’d help me remove a dead body if I asked. “Then see if they’ll bring a toothbrush, too, because I should probably go throw up.” I lurch off the bed, stumbling from my throbbing knee and the lightning strike of a headache that hits once I’m upright again. I am, in every way, a train wreck. Train wrecks are also caused by terrible timing.

“Jesus, Archer, be careful,” I hear him say.

All I have to do to get what’s left in my stomach to come up is imagine swallowing a few Advil. I wouldn’t say I have a phobia of pills, but definitely a strong aversion to them. I turn on the shower so Tristan doesn’t have to hear what’s happening. On the plus side, when I’m done, I do feel better. The headache is still front and center, though.

Either time is speeding up, or the hotel staff is extremely efficient in the middle of the night because in no time at all, Tristan comes into the bathroom with a toothbrush and toothpaste. I wave him off from my spot on the floor. “Go. This isn’t my best moment.”

He ignores me and turns off the bath water before sitting on the rim of the tub. I look up at him as he runs his fingers through my hair. “Feel better?”

“Some.” I rest my head on his lap and let him keep doing what he’s doing because it feels so good. “Sorry.”

“Would you have climbed my tree if you weren’t drunk?” he asks.

“Christ. No.”

“Then don’t be sorry. Are you done puking? There’s Advil out there when you’re ready.”

“You and your Advil…”

“All right. Come on.” He takes his hand out of my hair, and I lift my head again. “Can you stay awake?” he asks.