Page 30 of Hunt You Down

That lazy grin curled his lips. “Baby, I’m ready to shout it from the rooftops.”

I lunged across the floor, kissing him. That was the last thing I remember before snatching the bottle. “Let’s get fucked up.”

Chapter Fifteen

I’m never drinking again…

At least, that’s what I told myself after spending my morning hugging the toilet.

I’d woken up feeling like a knife was piercing my skull. I sat up, finding that I was alone in bed. Before I could ask André why he was on the couch, I was running to the bathroom.

And that’s where I currently sat. I heaved again, fire burning through my nostrils with the repeated taste from the bourbon.

“Shh,” André soothed, pulling sweaty hair away from my face. “It’s alright darlin’.”

He’d hardly left my side all morning, keeping me cool with a wet washcloth and consistently refilling the water that I couldn’t keep down.

Though after that last bout of vomiting, I finally felt like I could breathe. I grabbed the glass next to me, taking cautious sips as I leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby. It happens to the best of us.”

I still wasn’t confident enough to leave the bathroom, so André and I sat there until I’d successfully finished my water—and hadn’t brought it back up.

“I’m so sorry.” I was so embarrassed.

André laughed. “Don’t be sorry, baby. It happens to everyone.”

“That doesn’t make it any less horrifying.” Scratch embarrassed. I was mortified.

André only helped me to my feet, coaxing me into the shower and helping me clean up.

“Why’d you sleep on the couch?” I finally asked as he dried me off.

“You were very, very drunk. I didn’t want you to wake up to a strange man in the bed with you.”

My first reaction was to deny that I’d ever do that, but it had happened… more than once. Instead, I offered him a banal smile and thanked him.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked, offering me a clean pair of sweats from my stuff.

Surprisingly, my stomach rumbled. In the close, quiet quarters, it was loud enough for André to hear. “I don’t know how the hell I’m hungry,” I muttered, hunting for a t-shirt.

“Well, you did just expel the entirety of your stomach.” I glared, and he changed course. “Why don’t I show you my favorite cure for a hangover?

“Why does that sound suspicious?”

He laughed and pulled a pair of jeans from the closet. “It’s not, but it does involve going out. You up for that?”

With a deep breath, I nodded, sipping at another glass of water while André got himself ready.

It wasn’t long before we were walking down to the parking deck, and André had me back in the passenger’s seat of his Aston Martin. I dozed against the window as he drove across town, only opening my eyes once the car stopped.

We were outside a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant. “What can this place do for my hangover that your bed can’t?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a smile, taking my hand the moment he could.

It suddenly didn’t matter. The way André’s hand felt in mine? I’d let the man lead me anywhere.

Including inside that restaurant and to a table in the corner. He left me sitting there with a kiss to my forehead, muttering that he’d be right back. I watched him go to the window, order, and when he returned he sat a cold ginger ale in front of me.