Page 144 of The Vacation Mix-Up
Yep, I think we’re all done!
I slide my stool back, sigh, then make my way to the stage, when Riles snags my arm and tugs me next to her, her head resting on my shoulder as she slurs about smiling instead of crying.
“Sing, you pussy!” Ben hollers.
I grit my teeth at him, nearly losing an eye when Riles’s floppy arm shoves the microphone at my face, her wrist limp, her voice box broken… or asleep. And after reluctantly murmuring the closing line for her, I scoop her into my arms and hand Carlos the microphone, mouthing,“Thank you.”
He nods as if a mourning woman pouring her alcoholic heart out isn’t new to him—and it probably isn’t.
“You need a hand getting her back to the room?” Ben asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Thanks, man. I appreciate your help tonight.”
“Any time, brother.”
We part ways, and as I make my way to the elevator, Riles tries to lift her dangling head while slurring, “Sssmile.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Smile.”
“I sssang for Mmmomma.”
“I know you did.”
We pass passengers, most of them giving me a wide berth, as Riles waves at them, still slurring, “Sssmile.”
Some of them chuckle while others are etched with concern, and I can’t say I blame them. I’d probably be suspicious of a man carrying an inebriated woman to God knows where as well.
Feeling highly uncomfortable, I elbow the Up button, take the elevator, and hurry as fast as I can to our cabin.
“Riiileyyy?”
“Yeah, Riles?” I prompt, fumbling with my sailing card.
“I don’t feeeel good.”
Say what?
Swiping it like a madman, I shove the door open with my ass when it unlocks, then swing us into the bathroom and place Riles on her feet, holding her hair back just in time for a fountain of puke to plummet into the toilet bowl.
I dry-heave but hold her steady until she’s done, and then I clean her face and carry her to her bed, gently laying her down before removing her shoes and slipping her dress over her head.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, voice cracking.
“Shhh. It’s fine.”
She lets out a sob. “But y-youuu don’t do puke. And I—” She bursts into tears. “—puuuked.”
Slotting myself beside her, I smooth her hair back from her face. “I don’t do puke, but I’ll do it for you.”
chapter twenty-one
RILES
Forcing my eyelids apart, I immediately shut them again when the morning sunlight beams into my eyeballs, my head vibrating like a taiko drum. A stale, earthy, foul funk coats my tongue, so I gag then lick my lips, my throat dry and revolting.What the hell happened last night?
