Page 63 of Lovesick
“Crew Calloway wants to sleep with me!” I scream, dancing around in circles, trying to garner as much attention as possible from the crowd. Luckily for Crew, the music drowns out my pathetic attempts to start something.
“I’m taking you home, Merit. You’re in no state to drive, and neither is Irelyn.”
Aw, I love Irelyn. She’s my best friend.
I stomp my feet in outrage, though I know Crew is more than capable of throwing me into the car. “But I don’t want to go hooome.”
“Too bad,” he growls, that passive stance of his languishing, and—risky, given his clothing placement—he swoops me upover his shoulder, holding the backs of my thighs to keep me from falling on my ass. The movement jostles my stomach, which promptly sends a jet of bile up my throat. I swallow my breakfast back down.
“Crew, put me down.”
“I’m not playing this game with you, Merit. Say goodbye to Irelyn.”
Crew says something indistinguishable to Harlan—who gives him a thumbs-up—then he swings me around so I can face my best friend.
“Irelyn, help! He’s kidnapping me!” I screech, flailing my feet and pounding my fists on his back.
The redhead cracks an oblivious smile and waves. “Bye, Merit!”
Oh, I’m going to kill her. Right after Crew gives me my walking ability back. Wow. This is definitelynothow I imagined losing it.
Through my floundering, pleas, and then subsequent brigade of insults, Crew manages to navigate out of the frat house without bumping into anyone, which makes for a pretty smooth ride even though I’m six feet off the ground. The nausea has escalated to an unbearable ten by the time we step back into civilization, and my mouth begins to water. The cool air should neutralize my fever, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.
Finally, he places me gently on the sidewalk, fretting over me like a worried parent. “Are you okay? Do you need me to carry you to the car?” he asks.
“I don’t feel well,” I mumble under my breath, wrapping my arms around my midsection.
Panic fleets across his face. “I know. We’ll get some water in you, and you’ll feel a lot better, okay? I promise.”
I don’t know how he’s so certain, but I believe him.
Crew says he parked at least a few blocks down, whichmeans that I have to bear both the cold and the shame while walking around like a giant ball of caution tape. His strides are a lot longer than mine—more sure-footed—and I trudge behind him, seeing double every time I look down at the cracks in the cement.
My worn-out sneakers halt for a moment, and I place a hand on my upset belly.
Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.
“Crew, I?—”
He swings his head around fast enough to give himself whiplash—unchecked fear twinkling in his eyes—and I think I’m about to lose the contents of my stomach before a massive burp expels out of me instead. Embarrassment is the first thing I feel, but it’s swiftly squandered by a metric ton of relief.
“I’m good. False alarm,” I tell him.
Crew just shakes his head with a chuckle. “Hot.”
We both resume walking, and he purposefully slows down so I can keep up. Each streetlight we pass is a beacon in the dead of night, guiding our way to Crew’s Toyota, and a frost-laced breeze joins us on our journey. Little clumps of weeds squish under the dirty soles of my shoes as an autumnal menagerie of molting leaves skitter across the road’s cold asphalt.
Although the pressure in my throat is gone, my gut still hasn’t called for a ceasefire. “I know, right? I’m hottest the girl that you’ve been with ever.”
Am I making sense? I mean, I make sense to me.
He keeps his gaze forward-facing, and even with my rattled senses, I can hear an underlying somberness in his tone.
“Yeah, you are, Princess.”
In a perfect world, I’d kiss him. Right here, right now, where nobody can see us. And I wouldn’t stop until the sun came up.
But we don’t live in a perfect world, and I don’t carpe diemor whatever the Romans said. Instead, I half-burp and half-gag, keeling over from the force as tears prick the backs of my eyes.
