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|Uncover Me(Men of Inked #6) by Chelle Bliss|
“I’m going to go make you a little hair of the dog.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, praying to pass out. It was so much better when I was asleep and oblivious to the way I’d mistreated my body last night.
“I promise it will make you feel better.”
The bed dipped and sprang back to its original form, and I rolled to the side, trying to find the edge. I wanted to lie on the floor, thinking it would be a more stable surface.
“Ouch,” I cried as I plopped on the hardwood floor with nothing to break my fall. So not a better choice. I sprawled out, closing my eyes as I let the coolness of the floor soothe me. Everything was spinning, even the blackness behind my eyelids.
“Want me to help you into the bathroom?” he asked from the other side of the bed.
I wasn’t going to open my eyes to see where he was. “No. Leave me here to die.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said, snorting.
Then I heard his footsteps. It sounded like a bear was walking the halls. Every sound was amplified, and I couldn’t imagine listening to a loud Italian family today with this type of hammering in my head.
Drool started to dribble from my lip and collect under my face on the floor. I didn’t bother to wipe it away. I couldn’t move. Fuck. I said a little prayer, promising to never drink again if God would only make me feel better. We all make that prayer when we’re in over our head, even though we know it’s a crock of shit.
His loud footsteps woke me again. “Up ya go. You have to drink this.” He touched my shoulder, making my body lurch away without thought.
“Just kill me. It’ll be easier,” I whined, my body molded to the floor. I had to look like quite a sight. Sprawled out, naked, lying in puddle of drool, with my legs bent in an awkward way. I was too sick to even care, in all honesty.
“Nah. I love you too much to let that happen,” he said, his voice closer than it had been before.
He loved me. He loved me. I didn’t think I could ever get sick of hearing those words.
Peeling one eye open, I saw his knee close to my face. “I can’t sit up by myself. It’s impossible.”
Placing his hands under my arms, he began to lift me.
“Oh, God,” I grumbled. Everything started to move, and I had to seal my eyes shut to keep whatever was in my stomach down.
He propped my back against the bed and held me by the shoulders. I took three deep breaths, trying to push down the lump that had formed in my throat. Using every ounce of energy I had, I brought my knees up to my chest and rested my chin against my cool skin. Then I opened my eyes just enough to see him kneeling in front of me and looking fresh as a fucking daisy.
Removing one hand from my shoulders but still holding me steady, he grabbed the glass and held it in front of me. “I swear this will make you feel better.”
In the glass was a Bloody Mary. The thought of something so salty and thick made me instantly start to gag.
“I can’t,” I closed my eyes.
“Come on, Angel. Just a small sip,” he coaxed me, pulling my chin up in his direction.
When I opened my eyes, I was met with a look of concern and love—tilted head, soft eyes, and a small smile. He was staring down at me with the glass in his hand.
“I’ll try,” I agreed, knowing he was right. I needed to fight through it and somehow down the liquid.
Bringing the glass to my mouth, I grimaced when I got a whiff of liquor and tomato. I pinched my nose with my other hand. Even if I had to taste it, I didn’t want to smell what I was going to guzzle. My senses were on overdrive, so blocking one out was a good thing.
“How about a hot bath?” he asked, brushing the hair away from my forehead as I tried to take bigger and bigger gulps of the salty concoction.
“Mm, hm,” I grunted, feeling the thick liquid slide down my throat. If I didn’t puke now, it wouldn’t happen.
There’s nothing worse when you want to puke than having something slide down, coat your throat, and take its fucking time to settle in your stomach.
As he walked away, I took a break from the drink. Placing the cool glass against my forehead, I closed my eyes and took a couple of shallow breaths. After the water turned on, I saw him walking back and forth, grabbing a bottle from the linen closet and some towels.
I sighed, taking a few more sips, and stared straight ahead. After drinking the last bit of the Bloody Mary, I set the glass on the floor, leaving my hand next to it. I was wiped out, physically worn, like an old shoe in need of repair.
He returned to the bedroom moments after the water turned off. “Want me to carry you?” he asked, standing in front of me.
“I can crawl,” I whispered, moving forward and stopping almost immediately.
Crawling wasn’t a smart idea either. My knees ached from the hard floor, my head throbbed worse from the pressure, and the Bloody Mary was starting to creep back up the way it had gone down.
“Stubborn woman,” he mumbled, scooping me up in arms and holding me against his chest.
I wouldn’t say it was a better way to travel, but at least I didn’t have to expel any energy and could focus on not hurling on him during the short walk to the bathtub. I slumped against him, curling into a ball as he carried me.
The water sloshed as he stepped inside the tub. Keeping me against his bare chest, he sank down into the water, holding me safely in his arms. Letting the warmth surround me, I rested my head on his shoulder as he leaned back, taking me with him.