Page 21 of Pity Play

Steering her toward the stairs, I gently push her from behind as she takes one step at a time. Once we reach the upstairs hall, I lead her to her bedroom door. “Do you need help getting into bed?”

Leaning against me, she says, “Wait until Allie hears that you tried to get me into bed.” Then she slumps against me.

I carry Lorelai across the room before gently laying her on her duvet. Then I drape what I’m assuming is one of her homemade throws over her. I’ve got to say, she’s certainly more talented in that department than I remember. Before I go, I find a bottle of Tylenol in the bathroom across the hall and leave it, along with a glass of water, on the nightstand next to her.

Lorelai is not going to feel well in the morning. Hopefully, she won’t remember repeatedly propositioning me. She’s a sweet kid. Scratch that, she’s a nice woman, but I am here to fix things with my dad. I’m not here to complicate my life by getting involved with someone who lives two hours away from Chicago. And even if I were, it wouldn’t be with my best friend’s little sister.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LORELAI

Rolling over in bed, I feel like I got hit by a truck. From the throbbing in my temples, I’m guessing it ran over my head. Looking at the clock, I discover it’s only eleven p.m. As I sit up, a brutal wave of nausea overtakes me, so I throw the covers back and sprint across the hall. I get to the bathroom in the nick of time.

I feel a little bit better after throwing up but if I had to guess, I’m still pretty drunk. The last thing I remember is telling Allie that I absolutely do not need a third drink, especially as I only ate a couple bites of my burger. That’s when I start to wonder how I got home. A flash of Luke and me in a car comes to mind, but I immediately know that must be a dream. I’ve been revisiting a recurring fantasy about him taking me to the prom.OMG, Luke is back in Elk Lake and he’s staying at my house!

Staggering back to my room, I hurry to straighten the bedding so it’s ready for him when he comes home. That’s when I notice the glass of water and Tylenol at my bedside. Picking up the phone, I try to send a text to Allie, but I can’t figure out where the send button is. Even though Allie got me drunk against my will, she’s a good friend. Although, I suppose it wasn’t really againstmy will as I took every sip of my own accord. Gentle reminder: no more lemon drops.Ever.

Grabbing the bottle of painkillers and the glass of water, I stagger down the hallway to my parents’ room. Then I crawl into their bed. Even though I desperately want to remember what happened earlier, I need to sleep more.

I immediately fall back into the dream I was having about Luke and me going to prom. The theme is inexplicablyJawsand the school gym is decorated with posters of sharks with their mouths hanging open menacingly. The repetitive thumping of the theme song plays as it builds a tension that doesn’t quite fit the setting.

Looking down, I see that my dress is made from the same rubber material they use for wetsuits, and I have a snorkel draped around my neck. This is so weird that I make a mental note to complain to the prom committee.

Looking around the gym, I spot Luke standing by the punchbowl. He pulls a long straw out of his suit pocket and puts it into the bowl before taking a drink. I hope everyone doesn’t do that. Talk about unhygienic. Yet, I don’t mind that he does it because let’s face it, if I have my way, I’m gonna suck the lips right off that boy later tonight.

Luke sees me and raises his hand in a wave before walking in my direction. I immediately throw my shoulders back, hoping this stupid dress shows off my curves to their best advantage. I didn’t develop until late and hope against hope that I at least remembered to stuff my bra. That’s when Luke reaches me, but instead of stopping, he walks right by.

I turn around and call out to him, but he just keeps going until he reaches a shark wearing a tiara and pink tutu. They dance to “Something from Nothing” by the Foo Fighters while I stare on, wondering what in the heck is happening.

That dream leads to one where I’m skydiving in a wedding dress. I don’t realize until after I jump out of the plane that I’m not wearing a parachute. But dreams are crazy and for some reasonthat doesn’t scare me. Instead, I start posing toward an invisible camera like I’m taking pictures for some extreme social media page.

I fall for what feels like hours before I finally hit the ground. But instead of the impact killing me, it feels like I land on another person. My target shouts, “What in the hell?” Then my body is thrown to the side.

Somewhere in the fog of this nightmare, I hear a voice yell, “What are you doing in my bed?” It sounds alarmingly like Luke. But it can’t be his because he’s sleeping in my room.

Cracking my eyes open the barest of slits, I see a shadowing figure sitting upright next to me. In response I let out a blood curdling scream.

The figure jumps out of bed and shouts back, “Why are you screaming? What are you doing in here?”

I lean over and turn on the bedside lamp which is when I discover Luke standing above me wearing only his boxer shorts. “What areyoudoing here?” I demand, while counting the indentations of his six-pack. Make that eight.Nice.

“I was trying to sleep.”

“Inmybed?” I’m not mad, just really confused.

“No, in your parents’ bed. Noah’s room kind of stunk, so I figured this is where you wanted me.”

“Isleep in here while my parents are in Florida,” I inform him.

Now he looks confused. “You were sleeping in your room earlier this afternoon.”

He saw that, huh? “I was getting my room ready for you, and I must have dozed off.” That sounds lame, even to my intoxicated ears.

“So, you sleep in here and not in your own room?” The poor guy is really agitated.

Nodding my head causes my eyeballs to throb, but I do it anyway.

Luke doesn’t say anything else. He simply turns around and walks out the door. I’m too embarrassed to go after him. I’ll apologizefor the mix-up in the morning. Maybe I’ll even make those canned biscuit cinnamon rolls for him.

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