Page 42 of Love Arranged
Lily jumps out of my truck before I can pull to a full stop. I’m not fast enough, so she is already bent over and retching in front of the fire hydrant by the time I get to her.
I reach for her hair and pull it back from her face.
“I hate you.” She lets out a strangled sob that chips away at my icy heart.
“I know.” I adjust my grip on her hair so I can capture a few loose strands that were hanging in her eyes.
“You taking care of me right now changes nothing.”
I tighten my hold. “Wasn’t expecting it to.”
“I’m aiming for your precious little Ferragamos next.”
“They’re far from little, but be my guest. I deserve it and worse.”
My comment seems to set her off in the worst possible way.
I’m surprised Lily has anything left in her system, but she manages to vomit again. She doesn’t spin around and shoot for my shoes like promised, but a bit splatters against the handmade Italian loafers.
Obsessive thoughts about cleanliness rise to the forefront, waging a war against my better judgment.
My inner voice is loud and intrusive as it says,She could pass that sickness along to you.
She’s drunk, not sick,I try to reason.
Are you absolutely sure, though? What if she passes something along and you’re bedridden for weeks?
Weeks? That’s ridiculous.
I’m ripped away from the conversation happening inside my head when Lily turns away from the hydrant and teeters before reaching for my thigh. Her touch is innocent, only meant to catch her balance, but heat courses through my body.
She sags against me. “I think I’m done.”
I don’t entirely believe her. “You sure?”
“I hope so, but there’s only one way to find out.”
See? She’s still not feeling well, so it can’t be the alcohol.
Oh, fuck off,I reply to myself.
I release the makeshift ponytail I made. I doubt she wants her hair in her face right now, so I gently remove the hair tie from her wrist and pull it back—something I’ve never done for another woman before.
I ignore why that is and say, “I’m going to run inside the bar and get you some water.”
“Okay.”
I pluck her hand from my thigh, ignoring the electricity shooting across my skin as I direct her toward a bench. “Stay.”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
I rush inside Last Call, ignoring the people gathered around the window who witnessed Lily’s incident. Their attention is redirected to me as I head over to the bar for a cup of water.
The bartender tries to offer me the smallest plastic cup, so I toss a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and ask him to fill up a large plastic pitcher instead. Someone seated at the bar hands me a few sticks of gum, and I take them with a quick thanks before heading outside with Lily’s water.
I pass it to her, and she retains her gracefulness as she rinses her mouth out before taking a few delicate sips from the pitcher. It doesn’t take long for her arms to start shaking, so I hold it up for her until she says she’s done and then offer her a stick of gum.
I’m placing the pitcher on the ground when she goes to stand. She seems to overestimate her sobriety, and she stumbles forward.
