Page 6
CHAPTER 6
LILAH
“Please stop shouting.”
“I’m not shouting at all. In fact, I’m whispering because my head is absolutely killing me, and it’s all your fault because you were the one who got me drunk, Lilah .”
She says my name pointedly, and I’d laugh if my head didn’t feel like it was point two seconds away from exploding. After a lot of self-encouragement, I finally pulled myself off my floor and made it to my bathroom, where I was stuck on the toilet for nearly thirty minutes because I was afraid to move again. Now, I’m lying on the couch after two cups of coffee, and I still feel like death. I can’t even hold my phone up I’m so tired, so it sits on my chest as I talk to Auden.
“Nobody was force-feeding you champagne,” I say.
“False. You did with that one glass.”
I wince. That’s true. I did do that. But I was so far gone at that point I’m pretty sure I did a lot of things sober me wouldn’t have done.
Like almost let Arthur Fox kiss me.
Like beg him to stay the night and then tease him about sex.
Unfortunately, I remember both events enough to be sufficiently embarrassed, which I would have been this morning if not for the fact that I did something even more humiliating—showed Fox my ass. Literally. Thing is, I couldn’t have moved even if I had tried—and trust me, I did. My body was having none of it.
I felt him staring. I felt those brown eyes of his that are far too dangerous for their own good caressing every inch of my body like he was memorizing me. For what, I don’t know, but I liked it all the same.
Still, I had some sense of preservation because I managed to get my body to cooperate while he was moving around my apartment. It was strange to lie there and listen to it. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he must be seeing. What did he think of my pink couch? Was it too much? Did he find it strange that I only use coffee mugs because I firmly believe everything tastes better out of a mug? Did he look at the old photos of me, Auden, Sadie, and Rory hanging on the wall? Did he wonder why I have no pictures of my parents up there? Did he look close enough to see that one of those photos is of the Spice Girls?
I don’t know. I just know it was strange to have someone else in my apartment. I can only count on one hand the number of people who have been here, and I’m on the phone with one of them.
“But I’m going to forgive you,” Auden says, dragging me back to the present, “because that might have been one of the best nights of my life. Can you believe I got Hutch to dance?”
“Yes. That man is obsessed with you. I’m fairly certain he’d commit murder if you asked him.”
“Really?”
“Okay, you sounded way too excited about that.”
She laughs, then groans. “I’m not sure I’m ever going to recover.”
“Me either. Has drinking always felt this awful?”
“We’re thirty now, so I think this is just how we live. I have no idea how Hutch went to practice this morning. I don’t even remember him leaving. I think I was still drunk when he got up.”
“Probably the fact that he’s being paid millions.”
“What’s a couple million dollars?” she mutters.
I laugh—internally only because laughing out loud hurts too much—because of course Auden wouldn’t care about a few million dollars. Her fortune from building Sinclair Properties and selling it for a huge profit far exceeds the “few million” her boyfriend makes. Even though Auden is ridiculously wealthy, she doesn’t lord that over anyone. She’s probably one of the most down-to-earth people I know, and it’s one of my favorite things about her.
“Speaking of the Serpents, did you leave with Fox last night, or was that a figment of my very, very drunk imagination? And if so, does that mean the dry spell is officially over?”
Until now, I hadn’t considered the implications of leaving the party with Fox, especially since I knew he was simply being a gentleman and had no other agenda.
“Not a hallucination, and no, the dry spell is still sadly ongoing. Fox was just doing the noble thing and ensuring I got home safely.”
“So, nothing happened between you two? I know you have that crush on him.”
“I do not have a crush!” It comes out much louder than I intended, and my head pounds so hard I swear I’m going to vomit.
It’s worth it, though. Auden needs to know I don’t have a crush on Fox. I need to know I don’t have a crush on him, especially since we’re pretending to date. The last thing I want is for this to turn into something it isn’t. Yes, I like Fox, but I don’t want him to think this is anything it isn’t. I was serious when I said I don’t do relationships. I don’t want Fox to get invested in this, because I couldn’t bear hurting him.
“Okay, jeez. No need to yell.”
“Which is it—was I yelling earlier or just now?”
“Both.” I roll my eyes. “I mean, you said sadly the dry spell is ongoing, implying that you wanted it to be broken.”
“Not with Fox,” I insist. “Because I don’t have a crush on him.”
“I believe you.”
But I don’t tell her the other part. I don’t tell her I’m apparently dating this man I don’t have a crush on. I don’t know why I keep quiet about it. Maybe because it’s not that big of a deal, and it’s just for one night. Or maybe because I’m scared she’ll tell me I’m making a huge mistake, and the last thing I want is for her to be disappointed in me.
Whatever it is, I keep it to myself.
“Well, boo.”
“Boo?” I ask.
“Yeah. I don’t know. I just thought… I thought you and Fox would make a cute couple, you know? He’s so nice and reserved and such a Southern gentleman, and you’re…”
“A complete mess?”
She laughs. “Not at all. You’re just you , you know? You’re loud and free, and you’re Lilah.”
I nod because I know what she means. Fox and I make zero sense together, and I fear my mother will realize it the second we walk into the party. She’s never going to believe we’re actually dating.
“Thank you?”
“It’s a good thing. I promise.”
“Well, I?—”
A knock interrupts me, and I stare at the door, confused. Who the hell could this be? I didn’t order anything, and the only other people I know who know where I live are currently busy.
“Was that you or me?” Auden asks, just as surprised.
“Me.” I slowly pull myself from the couch, trying not to upset my stomach more than it already is. Maybe chugging two cups of coffee with nothing else in my system wasn’t the best idea.
“Who is it?” Auden asks as I switch her off speakerphone and bring the phone to my ear.
“I don’t know. But if you hear me scream, call 911 and tell them I give incredible blow jobs.”
“What do your fellatio skills have to do with anything?”
Whoever it is knocks lightly again as I finally get to my feet. They’re patient; I’ll give them that. I just wish they would go away because I am not buying what they’re selling.
Still, I’m curious.
“They’ll get here faster because of the promise of great head.”
Auden laughs as I inch closer to the door, the room spinning with each step. I push up on the balls of my feet when I get close enough to see through the peephole. It’s not someone trying to sell something, nor is it a lost delivery person.
No. It’s the very last person I expected to see again today.
“Fox.”
“What about him?”
“It’s Fox,” I hiss. “He’s at my door.”
Auden gasps. “Shut up.”
“I’m so serious.”
“What is he doing there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Answer the door! Maybe he’s there to help you with your dry spell. Maybe he’s?—”
“Oh my god, I hate you. Call you later. Love you. Bye.”
I don’t wait for her to say anything else before hanging up. Mostly because I absolutely need to know why Fox is standing at my front door. With a steadying breath, I pull it open. And, in typical Fox fashion, he’s smiling. Smiling! Like he’s not hungover and doesn’t feel like he’s been run over with a tractor-trailer, then left for dead on the side of the road.
I groan. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” His grin stretches wider.
“Stop smiling at me like that.”
“Like what?”
I roll my eyes, then push away from the door, leaving it open behind me. Fox takes that as his cue and steps into my apartment, following behind me as I slowly make my way to the coffeepot for my third cup this morning. I grab the mug I used for the other two, refill it from the dwindling supply in the carafe, and grab my favorite creamer from the fridge. I pour in a healthy amount before taking a sip.
I instantly gag, spitting it right back into the mug.
“What the hell was that?”
Fox laughs. “Orange juice.”
“What?” I look at the counter and, yep, sitting right there is a jug of orange juice instead of my beloved butter pecan creamer. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I don’t know your coffee order and just figured…”
He trails off, rounding the kitchen island to me. He takes the mug from my hands, steers me to a stool, and gently pushes me down.
“Stay,” he instructs.
My lips twitch with a grin as I watch him move around my kitchen, looking entirely at ease. He dumps the horrific orange-juice-and-coffee combination, then refills the mug with fresh joe before grabbing the correct orange bottle from the fridge and splashing some in. He peeks at me over his shoulder, a dark brow lifted in a silent question.
“A little more,” I request.
He pours what looks like the perfect amount before recapping the creamer and setting it back in the fridge in the exact spot he got it from, and I wonder if that’s because he’s noticed that I tend to like things in a particular spot or if that’s just who he is too.
He brings my coffee to me, then settles back against the counter, watching me as I bring it to my lips and take a drink. As I suspected, it’s perfect. The creamer-to-coffee ratio is just the way I like it. I take another few sips, then smack my lips.
“So,” I say to the man who stands there with his arms across his chest, watching me like he’s afraid I might fall over at any moment. “What brings you by?”
He nods to the counter, and that’s when I realize there’s a bag sitting there. It’s grease-stained and absolutely calling my name.
I peek back at him, brow raised. “For me?”
“Yep.”
I practically dive for the bag, and he laughs over the crinkling of brown paper. I open it to find what looks like a sandwich and a big box of hash browns, and my gosh, does it smell so good. I immediately reach for a fried potato round, tossing it into my mouth and sighing when the fried-food flavor settles over my tongue.
“You’re the best.”
He grins—not that he’s ever stopped—and pushes off the counter, stalking toward me. “That’s the second time you’ve said that today. Keep it up, and I might just get a complex.”
I’d blush if I felt an ounce of mortification over it, but I don’t. I’m too happy right now because he brought me food.
Fox reaches for the bag and pulls out two sandwiches and another thing of hash browns. He passes me a set and keeps the other for himself, setting napkins out in front of each of us. I immediately take a bite of the sandwich while he moves back to the coffeepot. He grabs a mug from the cabinet, pulls the orange juice from the fridge, and pours himself a generous glass before clinking it against my cup.
“Cheers,” he says before taking a sip.
I groan. “No. No cheers. I can’t do any more cheers.”
He laughs. “Too much cheersing last night, huh?”
“Way too much.” I pop another hash brown into my mouth. “Remind me never to drink like that again.”
“Never drink like that again.” He winks at me before taking a huge bite of his bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast croissant, grease coating his fingers. When he sucks a digit into his mouth, I have to look away.
There’s no reason at all that should be attractive, yet I still find myself rubbing my thighs together. It has to be my dry spell. That’s all.
I push away all naughty thoughts and stuff another tot into my mouth.
“You know, I always thought potatoes were such an interesting food.”
He lifts a curious brow across from me, his mouth full as he takes another bite, his sandwich nearly gone in just two and mine still sitting practically untouched.
He chews and swallows. “Interesting how?”
“Well, we eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, you know? It’s still a potato. We just call it something different. Like these little things.” I hold up the round, pressed, deep-fried potato. “This is a hash brown, hash round, tater tot, and breakfast potato all in one. It just depends on who you’re asking.”
He nods. “That’s an excellent point. And it’s why they’re my favorite food group.”
He tosses one into his mouth, then grins— again . I want to hate that he smiles so much because who seriously does that? But I can’t. It’s…cute. He’s cute.
I ignore that thought of mine.
“Not that I’m not completely grateful for it, but you just decided to bring me breakfast because…”
Red fills his cheeks and even stains the tips of his ears. He squeezes the back of his neck. “I, uh, I figured I’d better check on you after how I left you this morning. You were really out of it. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Okay as in I didn’t pull an Elvis and die on the toilet?”
A loud laugh bursts out of him, and I flinch at the sudden noise, grabbing my head as the throb moves right through me again. The room spins once more, and yet again, I regret my choice to drink so much last night.
“Shit. Sorry,” Fox says.
“It’s okay. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was doing drinking that much.”
“If it makes you feel any better at all, Lawson was the first to vomit at practice today.”
I smile. “You know what? That does make me feel better.”
“Keller did, too.” He laughs lightly. “So, how are you really feeling after last night?”
“Well, my stomach is killing me, and as delicious as this breakfast is, there’s a really good chance it’s going to wind up in my toilet later.”
“That’s…unfortunate. But I meant the whole your-mother-thinking-we’re-dating thing.”
“Oh. That.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, that. How, uh, how are you feeling about it this morning? Want to renege on it?”
Yes!
It’s the first thing to pop into my head, and I realize how true it is. I absolutely do want to take it all back. But…I can’t seem to find it in me to say so. The pros of this agreement far outweigh the negatives. Especially since I woke up to no less than four texts from my mother this morning about my new boyfriend. She’s clearly already invested in this. We have to see it through now.
“I’m good with it. Are you still okay with it? Want to back out after seeing my ass this morning?”
If I thought his cheeks got red before, it’s nothing compared to now, and I experience entirely too much satisfaction while observing it as I sip my coffee calmly, watching him squirm under my gaze.
“I, uh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked.”
Even though I should expect it, it’s somehow the last thing I thought he’d say.
“Kind of hard not to at that point, yeah?”
He clears his throat, moving from one foot to the other. “Still. If my mama knew…” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m sure your mama would have understood.”
He smiles warmly. “Honestly, yeah. She probably would have laughed.”
“Do you have a good relationship with her?”
“I do. She’s the best. I know it’s not ‘cool’ for a guy to love his mother—the guys tease me for it all the time, even though some of them are total mama’s boys themselves—but I love mine. She’s too amazing for me not to, you know?”
I don’t know, actually. My relationship with my mother is rocky at best. But I’m glad it’s not like that for Fox. I think it would break my heart if that were the case. He’s too good of a person to have shitty parents like mine.
“That’s actually who I was talking to last night before you came out on the balcony. I was calling my family. Tradition and all.”
“That’s really sweet, Fox.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but to me, it is a big deal. I would kill for a relationship like that with my parents. I wish the two people who should love me unconditionally actually did, wish they didn’t put all the expectations on me that they do. I wish I were enough for them.
I take another drink of my coffee to swallow down that realization, then stuff another fried piece of potato in my mouth while Fox finishes his sandwich. I still can’t believe he brought me food and came over to check on me. It’s further proof that we don’t belong together. He thought about taking care of me today while all I thought about was my missing Louboutins and which app I’ll use to order dinner.
“Anyway,” Fox says, pushing off the counter, wadding up his wrapper, and tossing it into the paper sack. “I just wanted to stop over and make sure you were good and didn’t need me to take you to the hospital for one of those IV things to rejuvenate you.”
That honestly doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I could probably use that right now.
I wrap up my sandwich, saving it for later, and hop off the stool. “Thank you. You really didn’t need to come over, but I appreciate it.”
Another shrug, like this isn’t a big deal either, when again, it is. I have a feeling he does that a lot—big things that don’t feel big to him. He’s just that kind of guy.
I decide I like that about him. I like that he’s good, that he’s nice. I’ve never dated a nice boy, let alone fake dated a really nice one.
We clean up from our impromptu breakfast, and Fox even rinses his cup in the sink before placing it upside down in my dishwasher. He goes as far as to top off my coffee with the rest of the brew in the carafe and adds just enough creamer to it again. It’s weird how comfortable it all seems, like we’ve done this every morning for years.
When I walk him to my door, he stops, and I nearly crash into him.
“Sorry,” he mutters, his hands coming out to steady me, and I swear my skin feels like it’s on fire under his touch.
I’m sure it’s just because I’m cold from being dehydrated.
“I hope you’re not mad at me for imposing on your call with your mom last night. I’ve had some time to reflect this morning since the vodka is out of my system and I realize it was really rude of me to throw myself into your conversation under the guise of helping you. If you don’t want me to attend the party next weekend, I won’t. I’ll bow out and call your parents myself to tell them I’m to blame for you being dateless.”
I can’t help it—I smile up at him.
“What?” he asks after several moments of me just standing there staring at him like a total creep.
“Nothing.” I brush my hair—which I’m sure is a complete mess—out of my face. “You’re right. It was rude, Fox. But it was incredibly sweet, and I’m good with this arrangement. In fact, I think I’d actually really like to go to the party with you.”
Both of his brows rise high. “You would?”
“Yeah.” I hold up my hand and begin ticking off the reasons on my fingers. “You’re a total gentleman, you’re a really good dancer, you look really hot in a tux, you keep me supplied with alcohol, you bring me breakfast the morning after, and you didn’t even make a pervy comment when I showed you my ass. You’re the total package.”
Once again, his cheeks pinken, and I mentally high-five myself. I swear I could make a game out of getting him to blush.
“That’s, uh, that’s nice, Lilah. Could we circle back to the part where you said I was hot in a tux?”
I roll my eyes, then pull open my front door. “Go home, Fox. I’ll see you next weekend.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, tipping an invisible hat at me.
Not that I’d ever tell him this, but the room gets spinny again, and this time, it has nothing to do with my hangover.