Page 31 of Over You
“This room’s not yours. Doesn’t smell right.”
The kettle whistled. The hinges to a bed upstairs creaked.
“Ah, your bed’s comfortable, Georgia Anne. Soft and fluffy.”
I grabbed the railing and squeezed hard enough to splinter wood.
“Does he take sugar with his tea?” Lottie called from the kitchen.
“He’s not having tea, Lottie!” With a groan, I tromped up the rest of the stairs.
I kicked one of his discarded Vans down the hallway. Then the other. Jeans lay crumpled a few feet from my door. His singing rang out from my bedroom, a slurred version of “Witchy Woman.”
Much to my relief, Spencer still had on his Versace boxer briefs, but much to my dismay he was sprawled out on my bed. The lilac duvet crumpled around broad shoulders that tapered to his trim waist. A scorching heat spread from my head to my toes in a mixture of anger and unrequited lust.
“Get out.” I moved over the threshold. “Of my bed.” I passed the dresser.
He lifted his head and shot a mega-watt smile at me. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heardthat.It’s usually getinmy bed.” He laughed then went straight back to singing while waving his hand through the air like an eccentric, New York City Orchestra conductor.
“Spencer. Get out.”
He beckoned me with his middle finger. “You get in.”
“Oh my God. I’m going to kill you.” I stormed to the foot of the bed, grabbed both his ankles, and yanked as hard as I could. But six feet and three inches of solid muscle barely budged.
“Just so I know, is this really evenyourbed, or did you pay for it with money from our bank account?”
I literally growled. “I haven’t usedourbank account in nearly nine months.”
“Shame. You could have bought such nice things. . .” He brushed a hand over the comforter while I dragged my hands down my face.
The bed creaked. When I looked up, Spencer was on his knees and lunging toward me. Even drunk, he was quick. With one swift move, his arm was around my waist. My back hit the mattress with an oomph. One quick roll had me pinned beneath him, caged in by his tattoo-covered arms. The scent of whiskey and mint fanned across my cheeks when he inched toward my face.
My heart short-circuited. So much about being trapped underneath him felt right. So much felt wrong. “You have three seconds before I knee you in the balls,” I said.
A spark of a smirk flashed over his lips. Then his hands were underneath my arms, tickling. I swatted and pinched and laughed against my will. “Stop. Spencer. Stop.” Another bout of giggles that made anger swell inside me. “I swear to— Stop!” Much to my surprise, he did, and I scooted off the mattress as fast as I could while trying to catch my breath.
He was frozen on all fours in the middle of my bed with his cheeks puffed out.
“No. No. No.” I shook my head. “Don’t you dare!”
He cupped a hand to his mouth and scrambled off the mattress and into the hall. The door to the bathroom slammed shut followed by awful retching.
I ran my fingers over the crumpled duvet where he’d just been laying. As much as I wished I didn’t care—there was still a piece of me that felt the need to take care of him, so I went to the bathroom and tapped a finger on the door. “Hey.”
Silence ticked by, and panic set in. He seemed drunk, but I had no idea what else he’d done. Knowing him, there was no limit. Just when I reached for the doorknob, I heard him spit and cough. The toilet flushed.
“Yeah?”
I opened the door and found him sitting on the floor beside the toilet, eyes closed with his back to the tile wall. I took a washcloth from the cabinet and ran it underneath the tap, wringing out the excess water before I stepped beside him. “Here.”
He took the damp cloth from my hand. “I’m sorry.” The pity in his voice caused the wall around my heart to crack, tiny bits of mortar crumbled. He wiped the cloth over his mouth. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for not puking on my bed.”
Silence stretched between us. Not much had changed. He was still struggling, and I still loved him. . . Years ago, I thought rock-bottom was living in an apartment complex nestled amongst crack houses, having to skip a meal here and there because money was tight.
But it wasn’t.
