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I guide her to the door. She leans into me further, balancing herself as she searches her purse for her key card. When she finds it, she hands it to me, and I scan us in. I steer her to the bed, helping her rest on the edge.
“Water?” I offer, not sure what else to do with her. She doesn't look her best self at all.
She fumbles with her shoes, trying to remove them, but she looks so sleepy and is making the simple task look impossible.
“Here, let me help you,” I say, undoing the buckles for her and slipping them off. “How much did you drink?” There is more concern in my voice than I want, but I can’t help it. When it comes to her, I will always have a soft spot, a need to protect her, even if it is from herself.
She shakes her head, looking sad. “I think I might have overdone it a little,” she mutters.
“Yeah, maybe.” I give her a sympathetic smile. “Nothing some water, painkillers, and a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” I try to reassure her with a pat on her leg.
She flops down on the bed, smoothing her hands over the comforter like she is about to get comfy and go to sleep, but instead she sits back up in a rush, jumping to her feet and making a dash for the bathroom. Turns out she was going to be sick after all.
What the hell is going on with her? First the drinking at the movie night and now this. I would have thought she’d have gotten the whole binge-drinking thing out of her system in college like the rest of us.
I give her a minute to sort herself out then knock on the door. “Are you okay?” I call to her then wait.
“Don’t even think of coming in here, Brandon,” she cries back. She must not be too bad then.
“Okay, just checking on you,” I offer, backing away from the door. While she’s in the bathroom, I fix her a glass of water from the small kitchenette and find a packet of painkillers from the mini bar. She’s going to need them in the morning. I place them on her bedside table where she will find them easily when she wakes up.
After about five minutes, she comes sheepishly back into the bedroom, her dress swapped for a bathrobe, her hair out flowing over her shoulders, and the fresh smell of mint toothpaste wafting through the air as she passes by. “Can’t believe you had to hear that.” She covers her face, trying to hide her mortification.
“Do you feel better now?”
“A little. I think I just need to sleep it off. Vodka was a bad idea.” She wanders to the bed, pulling the covers back and slipping in, before rolling over so she is facing away from me. My cue to leave, I guess. Except I don’t want to. I can’t leave her like this.
“This is your fault, you know,” she utters sleepily.
I glance back at her. “How is that?” I walk around the bed so I can see her face. This is the most honest she’s been with me, and I’m not missing my chance to know what is really going on in her head.
“Parading around with that pretty blonde downstairs today.” I want to laugh but stop myself. This is not the time.
“You jealous, Shortcake?” I tease, enjoying the fact. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as she makes out. Maybe I do have time to fix what I broke.
“No. Just made me sick to watch.” She tries to say it like a cold, hard bitch, but her lips give her away, with a little smirk as she says it, knowing how silly she sounds.
“If you didn’t leave me alone today, it could have been you I was hanging out with all day instead of Juliet. I’m good company when I’m not being yelled at.” I’m not going to admit it to her now, but that was what I would have preferred. It was the only reason I agreed to come this weekend. Really, I should be back in Palm Springs preparing for our football season and helping the boys get ready. I was surprised that Jerry suggested me for this, since us winning this year is all he can go on about, but this opportunity for some time with her, away from our past, was too good to pass up.
“You make me so mad,” she says, but it’s a statement. She’s not angry at me right now.
“I know,” I tell her. What else is there to say? We have tried multiple times to talk about the past, and it ends badly every time, and now isn’t the time to get into it further.
She looks so sweet and innocent all curled up in bed. It’s hard to believe she’s the same person that hurt me so much with her venom this morning. I make a decision. I’m not sure if it’s the right one, but at the moment it feels like it is. I remove my shirt and drop my pants, folding them over the chair beside me.
Her eyes flutter open, and she squints at me. “What are you doing?” she asks me with more curiosity than annoyance.
I flick off the light, “Shove over. I’m staying. I’m not leaving you here alone. You could choke on your vomit or something in this state,” I tell her. And that is part of the reason I decide to stay; the other is that from the day I first saw her again, I haven’t wanted to be apart from her. No, that’s not true. From the day I met her when we were younger I haven’t wanted to be apart from her.
“I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, just like I always have,” she says sleepily. There is no anger in her voice this time, not even any protest. She’s not really bothered I’m going to stay at all. I take that as a small win for day one of the conference, even if she is under the influence.
I sit on the side of the bed and feel her turn over and face the other way. I slip under the covers. “I know. But I don’t want this on my conscience.”
“As long as you’re doing it for yourself.” She yawns, always having to have the last say.
“Good night, Shortcake.” I close my eyes, trying to get comfortable.
“Night, Quarterback,” she mutters.
