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“How about we put your shoes on, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” I laughed, feeling buzzed and sheepish. “I guess that would help.”
I was having difficulty maintaining my balance while standing next to him and trying to slip my shoes on my feet.
“Here,” he directed, “hold onto my shoulders.”
I did as instructed, lifting one foot and then the other while he slipped my heels on each foot.
“Ready, Cinderella?”
I nodded.
Damn, he had a very disarming smile; charming and disarming. Hey, I made a rhyme!
Charming and disarming; charming and disarming - God I’m fucked up!
Taz practically carried me upright to his truck.
What was with all of these G-Men and their macho pick-up trucks? Slate had one; Taz had a bigger one. Somehow, that caught me as being funny. I decided I would share that bit of humor with Taz.
“Hey, Taz,” I said, trying my best not to slur, “I noticed yours is bigger than Slate’s.” I nodded towards his truck, giggling as he hoisted me up into the cab.
“Uh huh,” he replied, taking a moment to fasten my seat belt around me before shutting the passenger door. His truck was immaculate.
He circled around and slid into the driver’s seat within moments. Just as we pulled out onto the street, things were starting a slow spin.
Oh, shit.
There was no freaking way I was going to puke in front of this fine, fine man. I would simply think of something else, take my mind off of the roiling in my stomach and the sudden salivating I was experiencing. Less than a minute later, I realized I was going to heave.
“Can you roll the window down?” I asked, as I started to unceremoniously gag.
“Oh, Christ,” he said, hitting the button to power the passenger side window down.
It was too late. I projectile vomited champagne along with my food selection from the wedding buffet down the front of me and all over the dashboard of his sparkling clean truck.
Several rounds later I was empty. I continued to dry heave as Taz made haste to get me somewhere. I knew it wasn’t Mom and Slate’s house; we hadn’t driven far enough.
He pulled the truck over to the curb and got out, circling around to open the passenger side door for me. I was covered in vomit.
I had never felt so humiliated in all of my life. I could never, ever show my face to him again. I knew that he was going to be royally pissed at me for dousing the interior of his pristine truck. It had smelled almost brand new before I heaved. Now it smelled pure funky.
To my surprise he wasn’t furious; he wasn’t even pissed.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently, reaching in and trying to find a place on me that wasn’t covered in vomit that he could grip. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, okay?”
“I’m really sorry, Taz,” I whined, sniffing the residual vomit back into my nose where it had evidently exited as well. “I’ll clean up your truck if you want.”
“No worries,” he said. “That can wait; we have to get you cleaned up. I’m not taking you home like this.”
“Where are we?” It had finally dawned on me to ask.
“My place,” he said. “We are going to get you out of these clothes and into the shower. I’ll find something for you to wear.”
Oh my.
Taz lived in a duplex. His apartment was on the whole bottom floor which was good because I doubted very much if I could have managed to climb any steps.
