Page 33 of Delirium

Someone needed to turn down the sun.

I pulled the coarse blanket over my face, squeezing my eyes shut, and still the bright light penetrated through any gap it could. My head pounded, my pulse beating a rhythm right through my damn skull.

“God damn it all to Hell,” I muttered, flopping facedown onto the mattress and covering my head with my pillow.

Wrong move. Suddenly I felt ten times worse. I rolled onto my back, conceding to the bright sunlight happily streaming in through the window, a reminder that a new day was upon us. Fresh beginnings, or whatever that bullshit was.

I was feeling anything other than a fresh beginning. I wasn’t sure which was worse—the massive knot in my stomach, or the fact my brain was doing its best to claw its way out through my eyeballs.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this hungover. Years, definitely. Maybe even since university, a group of us going down to the bar. I had never been young and carefree, not like most of the men my own age, but that was probably the closest to “free” I’d ever felt. Recent hangover or not, I did remember why I didn’t drink heavily anymore.

Because the next day sucked. What was even worse than being hungover and woken up before you were ready? Being on a goddamn boat and being woken up before you were ready while the floor swayed underneath you.

“It’s your own fucking fault,” I grumbled, pressing my fingertips into my temples. “You’re smarter than this James. But you let yourself get a little emotional and look where it got you?—“

Shit. The entire evening came flooding back to me in one painful rush of blood. Hearing Scarlett and Camp together. Heading downstairs and pouring myself a drink. Then another. And another, until I lost count. And…begging Campto tell me what she tasted like?

No. I could never.

Well, I could. I think Idid.

But it was pretty stupid of me. I wasn’t the kind to play my cards so openly.

The cabin door next to me slammed shut, and I gave up trying to sleep any longer. I needed caffeine, and I needed it now. Realistically, I needed an entire breakfast, dripping in grease, and a coffee ten times too strong, but I’d take what I could get.

Quiet conversation echoed in front of my door. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Knowing my current batch of luck, it was probably Camp and Scarlett, whispering whatever unnecessarily sweet things teenagers in their first relationship said. They seemed the sort.

Not that I cared. Last night had been a slip up. A temporary blip on the radar, from too much closeness from people I typically wouldn’t have looked twice at. That was all.

The way her hair drifted to her shoulders in the most enchanting way had nothing to do with it. Nor the way she threw her shoulders back when she was annoyed with me, giving herself an extra inch of height.

A blip.

I winced when a series of sharp raps hit my door. “Go away,” I snapped. I really wasn’t in the mood to hear Camp’s explanation, and I definitely didn’t want his apology. Nor did I want to see Scarlett’s face of sympathy as she peered around Camp’s shoulder. I wouldn’t consider any of that my idea of a good time.

“Open up, James.”

It wasn’t Camp’s deep voice on the other side of the door. It was Nash’s. I wasn’t sure which one of those assholes was the better option at this point. I also knew Nash wasn’t going to stop fucking knocking until I opened it.

I stormed out of bed and swung it open to see Nash’s easy, tanned face looking at me, free of any emotions.

Huh. I had expected him to still be angry with me. Resentful, maybe. Not emotionless.

“Good morning.” His voice was bright and cheerful, too bright and cheerful for this early in the goddamn morning when my head felt like I’d been crushed by a steamroller.

“Yeah, sure.” I rubbed my temples, trying to convince the pain to go away so I could focus. “What do you need?”

“Some greeting.” Nash shrugged and pushed his sleeves up. For the first time I realized he was wearing a shirt, which from my time on the boat was a rarity for him. The thin material almost looked gauzy, and far lighter than any of my impractical, once-starched shirts hanging in the aging wardrobe. “We’re headed onto land today, going to explore a waterfall. I know we haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye, but I’m also not a thousand percent on where your…investment is. The directions are pretty vague. It could be here. It could be ten miles upriver. It could be a hundred. But on the off chance it’s here, I thought you might?—“

I blinked. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be there in five.”

Nash nodded. “Cool. Did you want to borrow a shirt? We’re going to be hiking for a bit, and I’m not sure you brought anything other than dress shirts.”

Bristling, I sneered. “I’ll be fine, thanks. See you in five.” I all but slammed the door in his face.

Ihadbasically only brought my dress shirts, minus a jacket, but in my defense, I hadn’t expected to be trekking through the bush either. Call me naïve, but I’d been assuming we’d take the boat down to wherever Clancy set up camp on the embankment. I’d do what I needed to do to regain control of the situation, and then we’d be off again. There wasn’t any need forcasualclothing.

Obviously, I’d thought wrong. But like hell if I was about to admit that to Nash, or worse, borrow his clothing. Who knew the last time he’d done laundry. Knowing him, he probably washed it in the river, beating it against a rock. God only knew what kind of diseases it held.

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