But our belly dancer slash waitress comes over just then, interrupting Harvey’s moment. I look over as two additional men come walking up behind the waitress like they’re ready to kick my ass for making a mess in their restaurant.
I scoot closer to Warren until I’m practically in his lap, because those dudes look scary. I nearly knock the ice cream bowl right out of Warren’s hands until he steadies me with his hand on my hip.
“Horrry. Ihht waaa an ahhidenn,” I tell them. Well, I try to anyway. I’m not sure anyone can understand me. My tongue is still in revolt.
Arms crossed, lips pursed, they continue to glare at me with clear disapproval. “I’m going to have to ask your party to leave,” the belly dancer says, her lips thin and angry.
“Apologies for the mess,” Warren says smoothly, before standing and pulling me up with him.
He pulls out his wallet and grabs several large bills, handing them over to the woman. “For your trouble.”
Her expression instantly morphs from irritation to appeasement as she counts the bills. “Thank you, sir.”
He nods and leads me out, holding me by the elbow as I walk on shaky legs. The too-big men’s construction boots don’t help my walking ability at all.
Once we’re outside, the four of us form a small circle, and I finally manage to put my poor tongue back inside my mouth. Looking down, I see that I’m covered in my dinner, and Warren’s dress shirt didn’t fare much better. My dress is crooked, my shoelaces are undone, and I don’t even want to know the state of my face or hair.
“Well, that was...fun?” I say hopefully.
Warren scoffs.
Blue and Harvey aren’t listening, since they’re locked in another heated debate, this time about mud wrestling.
“Oh, please. I was a champion in college. I could kick your scrawny white ass,” Blue tells him.
“Care to prove it?” Harvey challenges with a grin.
She shrugs, making one of the straps to her overalls flop down her arm. “Let’s go.”
“What, right now?” he asks, looking increasingly giddy.
“Yup. I know a place,” she says as she turns and starts walking away. “Unless you’re chickening out?” she tosses over her shoulder.
Harvey watches her with a bit of awe in his eyes before giving us a sheepish look and trailing after her.
I blink at her departing back as she heads down the sidewalk. I’m not about to interrupt a potential Love Match between the two of them or anything, but I’m pretty sure I just got dick-ditched. Not to mention, she just left with the wrong guy. Oh, well. At least someone got something out of tonight’s date.
I look over at Warren. “All in all, I’d say you earned a solid C tonight.”
He puts his hands in his pockets and looks down at me. “I’m getting graded now?”
“Well, yeah. How else am I supposed to show your improvement?”
He shakes his head. “You are an enigma.”
I’m fairly certain he doesn’t mean that as a compliment, but I’m going to take it as one anyway.
“And you aren’t as much of an asshole as you want everyone to think you are,” I reply.
Warren frowns at my declaration. “Yes, I am.”
I shake my head. “Nope. You helped me up, fed my flaming tongue some ice cream, and paid off the restaurant so I wouldn’t get into trouble. That’s the Warren Knight I knew was in there,” I tell him proudly.
He rubs the back of his neck like my compliments are embarrassing him. “Right. Well, I’d rather not have a repeat of tonight.”
I nod emphatically. “Same. The next time I come here, I’m definitely not going to point-order. Spicy foods are obviously not my thing.”
The smallest twitch of his lips happens at the corner. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Warren Knight wanted to smile.
“And what exactly is your thing?” he asks.
I tilt my head. “You know, that is an excellent question. I need to make a list.”
I may have a ticking clock, but I just realized what an excellent opportunity I have. I get to be alive again, so what better way to celebrate that for the next few weeks than by doing as many things as I can?
“List?”
I nod emphatically and start thinking of all the things I can do before going back to the Veil. I start listing off things in rapid succession. “I want to step into the ocean, pet a dog, crowd surf…”
“Crowd surf?”
“Definitely,” I say. “What else...Oh! I want to try a vibrator. I’ve heard they’re amazing.”
Warren opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then closes it and tugs at his collar.
“Get a massage...take a pottery class,” I go on. “Go to a movie theater, oh, do a body shot! And go skinny dipping, jump in a bounce house, play poker, go to a roller derby, play a video game, and... umm…” I wrack my brain. “Hold a snake. That seems fun.”
He blinks at me for a few seconds like he’s waiting to see if I’m going to continue or not. “Is that it?”
“That’s all I can think of at the moment.”
He looks relieved. “That’s quite a list.”
“I know! It’s gonna be awesome. Do you have a list?”
He stares at me for a beat. “Like a bucket list? No.”
“You should, they’re fun,” I tell him with enthusiasm.
My very own live my second life to the fullest to-do list. I’ll be able to do so many things. My stomach flips in excitement at the thought.
Oh, wait.
That’s not excitement.
I look up at Warren in horror as I feel it.
My stomach clenching. My throat spasming.
Disaster is imminent.
Acidic, burning, vile fluid comes rushing up from my gut, and vomit suddenly starts spewing out of my mouth in an uncontrollable explosion.
Colorful chunks of vegan sandwich and a way too spicy Moroccan stew dish jump out of my throat like a damned jack popping out of a box. There’s no anticipating it or hope to stop it from happening.
It’s right here, in the middle of the Californian sidewalk, standing with one of the richest, most well-known, successful CEOs of all time, that I upchuck all over his Berluti dress shoes.
It’s loud. Colorful. Gag worthy. People passing by let out a collective “eww.”
Yep, I spoke too soon.
This. This right here is the most embarrassing experience of my nine-hour life.
Chapter 15
Warren
“I’m dying.”
I glance over at the pink-haired female currently straddling my bath mat.
She has her head sunk in the toilet, so every time she speaks, her voice echoes off the porcelain.
“You’re not dying,” I tell her as I place a glass of water and some nausea medication on the floor next to her.
As soon as she vomited on my shoes outside of the restaurant, her knees promptly gave out. Good thing I have quick reflexes and was able to catch her by the waist before she fell.
She couldn’t tell me where she lived, but even if my GPS could’ve located the right nudist colony—and fuck, I had no idea there were so many—I didn’t think it would be polite to shove her in the first cab I saw, given her condition. I may be an asshole, but I’m not that bad.
So, being the not that bad asshole that I am, the only thing I could think of to do with her was pick her up and have my driver take us to my house.
You know what happens when you carry a sweating, groaning, slightly delusional woman down the street at night as she flails around in your arms and cries? You get a lot of dirty looks and exactly four people calling the police. If the tabloids get a hold of this, they’re going to have a fucking heyday.
Trix turns her head in the toilet bowl just enough so that she can glare at me. “Don’t argue with me. I can’t stop throwing up, my body is having earthquakes, I’m sweating like a sauna, and my stomach is making noises that are not healthy. I�
�m obviously dying, asshole.”
I grab a washcloth from the cabinet and run cold water over it. When I hold it out to her, her arm weakly grabs for it before slapping back down on the tile, unsuccessful.
I kneel down beside her and gently start wiping at her face. “You’re not dying, Miss Valentine. Your stomach just rejected that food you ate.”
She mumbles something about “First meals, fucking vegans, and fire stew.”
My lips threaten to turn up. Despite her miserable condition, she still manages to be feisty.
“Ready to try to drink some medicine and water?” I ask as I swipe the cloth across the back of her neck.
She grimaces. “I don’t want to throw up again.”
“Believe me, you don’t have anything else to throw up. I think you hocked up your stomach that last time.”
She groans and smacks my hand away. “Shut up. Don’t say hocked while my head is hanging in your toilet.”
I toss the washcloth into the sink and grab the medicine that I’ve already measured out in the little plastic cup. I hold it up to her lips until she drinks it all down, gulping it with a terrible look on her face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yep,” I say simply. “Here.” I pass her the water, and she guzzles it down like she’s an unclogged drain.
“Easy,” I say. “Don’t go so fast.”
“Don’t be bossy,” she says, detaching her lips from the cup long enough for me to strong-arm it away from her.
“I brought you a shirt so that you can change out of that dress.”
She looks down and grimaces when she sees that some vomit has been added to the dried food already caked on her dress. “Gross.”
Without any hesitation, she lifts her arms and looks at me expectantly.
I’m momentarily confused, and then shocked when I realize that she’s trusting me to undress her. I clear my throat and reach down, gathering the fabric in my hands.
But then I hesitate. My knuckles are grazing against her bare thigh, making my hands heat up in awareness. In my peripheral, I can see her chest rising and falling with quick breaths, and the damp thin material of her dress pulling against her breasts. There’s nothing sexual about this moment right now, and she definitely isn’t trying to seduce me, but the intimacy of this moment catches me off guard and steals my breath.
When I’m still stuck there like a chump, staring at her with my hands on her dress, she nods encouragingly. “Go ahead,” she says quietly.
Swallowing hard, I lift the dress off her body, trying very fucking hard not to look down. I know I already saw her naked earlier, but I was too pissed off and surprised to really look at her.
This...this is different. I don’t even know this girl, and yet here I am, taking care of her and dressing her in my clothes. It’s surreal and so completely unlike me. I don’t know how to analyze it yet.
I’m careful to always keep myself aloof. Apart. No commitments, that’s my rule. I’ve never had trouble with that before. So why is this woman effecting me?
As soon as I get the disgusting dress off her, I stretch out the collar of the t-shirt and pass it over her head, but I pause when I notice the huge tattoo of red-feathered wings along the entire expanse of her back.
“Holy shit,” I say, not even thinking when I reach out and skim the exquisite red lines with my fingers.
She instantly shivers, and fuck, seeing her skin pebble with chills, right there beneath the piece of art on her back, it’s the kind of raw beauty that I’ve never taken the time to notice before.
Her head swivels to the side so she can look over her shoulder. “What?” she asks, her voice a little breathy.
Snapping out of my awe, I force myself to drop my hand. “Your wings tattoo. It’s remarkable. It must’ve taken hours.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and an indecipherable look crosses her face before she replies. “Not as long as you’d think,” she mumbles.
Taking one last look at the incredibly lifelike detail of the red feathers, I finish helping her dress. I slip her arms into the short sleeves of the shirt, but when I accidentally brush against the curve of her very generous breast, my cock leaps up like a dog who wants to go out.
This was a bad idea.
I finish getting her situated as quickly as possible, pulling the hem all the way down to skim her thighs. My eyes rake over her, and yes, this was definitely a bad idea, because now she’s in my damn shirt, and the sight is doing something to me.
She sighs a little. “Now I’m gonna have to tell Hummingbird Judy that I ruined the dress from the communal clothes bin.”
Shaking my head to clear out the foreign thoughts swimming in my brain, it takes me a moment to unravel her words. “What?”
She nods her head at the clothes I tossed aside. “The dress I borrowed.”
“Your nudist colony has a communal clothes bin?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s very convenient.”
Convenient, indeed. I guess the communal clothes bin didn’t have a bra for her to borrow, because I just confirmed that she definitely isn’t wearing one.
Fucking hell, Warren. Get your shit together and stop thinking about her like that.
“Right. Well...I’m sure they’ll understand,” I tell her. “Are you ready?”
She glances at me warily. “Ready for what?”
“I’m going to help you into bed.”
Her brown eyes widen in panic. “No. Don’t make me,” she whines. “I can’t move! My stomach is gonna flip out, and I’ll projectile all over your marble countertops. Marble, Warren. You’re not supposed to get vomit on marble. Even I know that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Fuck, she’s not even trying to be amusing, and I’ve been more entertained by her in one day than I have by any other woman in months.
“You need rest, and you can’t get that by sleeping on the bathroom floor.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” she retorts.
Rolling my eyes, I lean down and place my hands under her arms, our faces just inches away. “Put your arms around my neck.”
She sighs quietly. “Fine. It’s your marble’s funeral,” she grumbles before wrapping her hands around me, her fingertips brushing over my skin in featherlight touches. “Don’t drop me.”
“I’ve got you,” I promise her quietly.
I pick her up as gently as I can, surprised at the effortless way her body fits against mine. She makes a little whimper as I carry her out of the bathroom and over to the bed, but I’m mindful to keep my steps nice and smooth, and I hold her securely against my chest as she practically melts into me.
It’s a strange feeling, holding someone like this. All I’ve ever done with a woman is fuck her, and to be honest, I’ve had no interest lately in even doing that.
I’ve already turned the blankets down on the bed, so I set her down as carefully as I can so as not to jostle her.
Trix immediately curls over on her side in the fetal position, clutching her stomach as she breathes slowly. I go back to the bathroom and clean up, then bring her more water and a trash can in case she gets sick again. As I’m setting the water on the nightstand beside her, her arm comes out to grasp my wrist, and I freeze under her touch.
It’s dark in the room, but the moonlight that’s coming in from the windows is enough to show me her shiny eyes are locked right on me. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For taking care of me.”
I look down at her, and in no way should I find her attractive right now. Her once braided hair is a mess of tangles and frizz, her face is pale, sweat lines her brow, and she’s spent the last three hours puking her guts up in my toilet.
I date models. Strictly tens. Women who always have designer clothes on and a face full of makeup. The kind that are always on their phones, who get waxed and polished and primped and plumped. The ones I sleep with and then don’t call after, and vice versa. The women who don’t want me for anything other than to be seen on my arm or for a quick and dirty fuck.<
br />
But Trix Valentine is not one of those girls.
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
With a small smile, she releases her hold on my wrist and closes her eyes, snuggling her face into the pillow.
I have to force myself to walk away so that I don’t continue to stand over her like a fucking creep. In my closet, I change into a t-shirt and sweats despite the fact that I’d usually just sleep in a pair of boxers. I sit in the chair next to the balcony, pulling my laptop over to my lap, telling myself that I’m only staying in here in case she gets sick again and needs help.
That’s definitely the only reason.
Chapter 16
Trix
I peel open a crusty eyelid as a groan escapes my dry-as-a-desert mouth.
It takes me a few seconds of blinking around at my surroundings to remember where I am. “Shit. I upchucked in Warren Knight’s stool pool,” I groan to myself.
I move up in a sitting position and wipe off the little bit of drool from my chin that slipped out during my near comatose state.
My fingers skim over the black sheets that are currently wrapped around my body like I got into a kicking contest with them last night and lost, while my eyes focus on every detail of the room.
Fireplace: check. Balcony: check. Cupid currently sitting in the chair, watching me wake up like a freaking psycho: che—wait, what?
“Sev!” I whisper-screech, nearly falling out of the bed in surprise.
He grins. “Rough night, luv?”
I groan into my hands.
This is not a good way to wake up. Because I’m not just in Warren Knight’s house. Oh, no. I’m sleeping in Warren Knight’s fricken bedroom. These are his personal sheets that are lassoed around my body, and that was his pillow I was drooling on. Plus, I have a damn idiosyncratic cupidity supervisor who has obviously been sitting here watching me slumberjack like he’s Edward fricken Cullen.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss over at him, still trying to get my bearings.
I try really hard not to focus on the mortifying memories that start filtering in from last night, but it’s impossible. They’re knocking against my skull like a bill collector refusing to leave.
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