Page 36 of My So-Called Perfect Life
She looks at me with a sad smile and shakes her head. “I know. I’m awful. So awful that I made you breakfast and brewed your coffee. Stop being so dramatic and get up.”
* * *
Twelve minutes later,simply because my sister is a bitch—in the best possible meaning of the word—I drag my sore body into the kitchen. Amelia is sitting at the little bistro table that serves as my eating table, sipping her own mug of coffee. There’s a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, complete with a steaming mug of coffee next to it.
“How are you feeling?” she asks before adding, “Physically, I mean. We’ll get to the mentally part in just a bit.”
I glare at her as I take the seat across from her. Some serious love-hate emotions for her are brewing in my mind. I love her for making me food and staying with me but hate that she’s going to talk to me about a bunch of shit I don’t want to talk about.
“My throat hurts a bit, and my stomach can’t make its mind up whether it wants to eat this or throw up some more. If there was something in it for it to throw up, I’m sure that option would win. And my head is pounding.”
She juts her chin toward the mug. “You should probably start with the coffee first.”
Its smooth richness soothes my sore throat. My stomach rumbles slightly as the coffee finally hits it, and after a minute, when it doesn’t make a reappearance, I figure it’s safe for another sip.
“Better?” Amelia asks after I drink half the cup.
“I think I’m good.”
“Great. I’d rather not have to deal with any more upchuck today. I think I finally got the smell off of me, and I’m not eager for it to return.”
Biting the bullet, I decide to just get right to it. “How bad was it?”
“Honestly, it was pretty bad.”
Groaning, I drop my head into my hands.
“The bar guy was cool about it though.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to think about him.” I push the eggs around the plate with my fork. “I can’t believe you guys let me do that. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?” she asks, placing her mug on the table, giving me her undivided attention. “Who cares?”
“Me!” I shout. “I care. Last night, I told an entire bar that man gave me chlamydia. It’s mortifying. What if someone recorded that and put it on the internet? What if a student’s parents had been there, huh? What if what happened somehow gets back to the school?”
“Whoa.” She holds up her hand. “No one was recording it, and I highly doubt this will get back to the school.”
“Still, it was horrible.”
She crosses her arms across her chest and leans forward, resting them on the colorful stone tabletop. “Who cares, Dani? It isn’t like you’re going to see any of those people again, or even if you did, other than the barman and Roxy, no one would even remember you. People do stupid things in bars all the time.”
She does have a point, but somehow, it would be easier to accept her thoughts on the situation if it were happening to someone else. “I can’t believe I threw up in his office.”
Amelia lets out a chuckle. “You did more than throw up in his office, babe. You threw up on him. Alcohol should definitely not be mixed with whatever antibiotic they gave you.”
I groan some more.
“Yes.” She laughs. “He took it like a champ though.”
“At least vomit washes off,” I add with an obvious bitterness in my voice. “He doesn’t need a prescription for that.”
The room is quiet as Amelia picks her coffee back up, and I contemplate whether or not I should chance more than the coffee.
“So …” Amelia drawls out. “Mercy and I were talking last night after we got back here, and we think the barman was telling the truth.”
“His name is Ryan,” I snap at her. “Don’t tell me you’re buying his crap about him not giving this to me? You were the one who said it was him from the beginning.”
The man is charismatic, I’ll give him that. His personality and smoking hotness charmed my pants right off me. But there’s no way he can convince me this isn’t his fault. I don’t care if Mercy and Amelia fell for his act. This is on him. It has to be.
