Page 31 of Seven Year Itch
She sucks her cheeks into her mouth and presses her fist to her lips. “I think I’m going to be sick, and I don’t want you to be here when that happens.”
“Why? Are you planning to not make it to the toilet?” My nose wrinkles at that thought.
“I will make it to the toilet,” she snaps, her face twisting up in pain. “But I don’t want you on the other side of the door when I do.”
“Why?”
She hits me with a lethal glare. “Because I’m not one of those delicate female pukers who spit up quietly.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes flash in horror as she slaps her hand over her mouthand scurries to the bathroom. I run after to help, but she slams the door in my face, and I hear a splash of liquid hit the toilet water.
“Dakota? Sweetie?” I coo softly at the door.
“Calder, get out!” she cries, out of breath.
“I am out. I’m on the other side of the door.”
“Get out of the palapa,” she says on a groan. “I don’t want you to hear this!”
“Come on, we’ve all been sick before. It’s not that bad.” My face falls when a horrific prehistoric-sounding cough reverberates off the tile floor, shaking the frame of the door. “Okay, maybe it is that bad.”
“I mean it. Go down to the beach. Get far, far away. This is—” Another round of retching hits her full force. She coughs and sputters, and I hear more liquid hitting the toilet water followed by a strange animalistic belching noise.
“Oh God,” she cries and coughs loudly.
I wince. “Do you need a doctor?”
“Go... the fuck... away!” she screams with more strength than I expected her to have as another wave hits her.
“Whatever you say, Ace,” I reply before heading out, shivering at the faint sounds of the horror show that’s sure to be our communal bathroom upon my return. That certainly didn’t go as planned.
Dakota
I am never touching tequila again.
My stomach roils as I exit the bathroom. The dry heaving finally ceased, and after a scalding-hot shower, I’m feeling as miserable as I deserve. I even had to dress myself in one of Calder’s T-shirts that was sitting in his bag in there because I had no clean clothes in the bathroom to change into after I dried off.
Our suite door opens, and my towel-wrapped head turns at asnail’s pace to see Calder walking in with a tray of supplies. He really needs to stop with the trays.
I wince when I catch him eyeing his Colorado Rockies T-shirt. “Sorry, I got vomit on my dress, and this was all I could find in there. I’ll give it back.”
His eyes flash to my legs. “So, you’re uh... naked under there?”
“Yes.” I frown and glance down like I need to check.
His Adam’s apple slides down his throat. “Cool. Totally naked in my shirt. Cool, cool,” he murmurs to himself as he sets the tray down on the bed and struggles to make eye contact with me. “Now who’s sharing whose musk?”
“Chill out, I’ll wash it,” I offer as he continues to make it weird.
“Just keep it,” he says with a punch that reveals just how much he hates the idea of me in his clothes. So much so that he doesn’t even want his shirt back. The dick. He turns back to the tray and begins pouring some ginger ale into a glass of ice. “I brought you some stuff to help your stomach.”
Frowning at the swift mood swing, I join him by the bed to watch him attempt to be domestic. It’s a confusing sight on Calder Fletcher. I huff out a laugh as he hands me the fizzy liquid.
I accept the glass with a pinched smile. “I read something once that ginger ale doesn’t actually help you when you’re sick.”
“So you’re calling my mom a liar?” Calder stares blankly at me.
