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“I’ll be down in a minute,” he replied, turning to look at Teagan. He would have grinned at the grimace she was currently sporting, but it hurt too much to attempt facial expressions.
“Want me to help you downstairs?”
“Don’t touch me,” she replied. “I’ll make my way down.”
“Shea and Frank?” he asked, looking over at the two of them, curled up like a couple of puppies underneath the blanket.
“If you so much as try to come near me, I will skin you alive and wear your skin around, pretending to be you, in order to hide your death,” Shea stated.
Jaxon snickered softly, wincing as he followed in the direction Brad had taken.
Someone had taken down the blanket fort in the hallway, folding the sheets and blankets neatly on each stair and against the wall.
Whoever it was made it much easier to maneuver his way downstairs to the kitchen for his customary hangover cure: a raw egg and a bit of Tabasco.
He tried not to think about it. He knew it was disgusting, but it worked.
Jaxon heard someone on the stairs behind him, but it was every man for himself right then. He’d go fetch some aspirin for Teagan as soon as he was able to walk without feeling nauseated.
He made his way to the kitchen, where Brad had already set out two glasses, breaking eggs into them. The sauce bottle was sitting there on the counter, too. Jaxon took the one closest to him, tapped a bit of Tabasco in, and knocked it back.
It was slimy and sticky going down, but the second it touched his stomach, he started feeling better.
“Ugh,” Teagan gagged from the door. “That’s enough to make me puke.”
“If you do, aim for the bin,” Brad said, keeping his voice low. “I don’t want to clean it up.” He swallowed his egg as well.
Teagan made her way to the dining room chair, reaching over to yank the garbage can over. She held her hair back messily with one hand.
“I forgot she has to throw up to feel better,” Jaxon said softly, accepting the glass of water Brad was holding out. “Sorry, love. I’d have brought something up for you.”
“Nah, she likes an audience,” Brad teased. “Likes to make sure we all know how miserable she is and feel a comparable amount of discomfort.”
“Shut up, Brad. Go suck an egg.” Teagan gagged, then gripping the garbage can with one hand. Jaxon moved over to take her hair for her, but she managed to compose herself.
“Can’t say that word,” she coughed.
“Coffee,” Shea gasped from the doorway.
“Fuck, please no,” Teagan whimpered.
“You’re going anyway. Might as well hurry it up,” Shea griped. “Otherwise you’re going to have to move in with Brad’s bin and poor Jaxon won’t have anyone to cuddle him at night.”
Frank followed soon after, reaching for the bottle of rum from the top of the microwave and uncapping it. He took a rather large swig and recapped it, meeting Jaxon’s eye and shrugging. “Hair of the dog.”
“Where’s Britt?” Jaxon asked.
“She’s around. She started cleaning this morning…” Brad took another swig of water and paused for a moment. “She doesn’t get hangovers.”
“Bullshit,” Shea said. “She was drinking more than any of us.”
“And yet, I’m fine,” Britt said brightly, ducking in through the back door, looking very much like she’d just taken a morning run. She was holding the mail and grinning. “I don’t get hangovers.”
Shea rolled her eyes. “Where were we on coffee?”
Teagan gagged and Jaxon pulled a chair up beside her to rub her back.
Brad started the coffee, causing everyone to groan a little when he ground the beans, but once the drip started, Teagan finally gave up and puked into the trash can.
