every hour, tossing and turning until morning, where I’m greeted by a raging hangover.
~~~~~
My head is lightly throbbing from way too much wine, and I drink a glass of water instead of coffee even though my sluggish body could use the caffeine.
Vic had told me he wouldn’t be at the café this morning and I’m grateful, still trying to figure out the best way to approach him. I try my best not to think about him not being here because another woman is sharing his bed. That kind of thinking will only add to my headache.
By the end of my shift the pounding in my head has taken to full-blown drilling and hammering. I’m completely drained from it and the lack of sleep.
Vic is waiting for me outside. I give a small smile even though my insides are beyond thrilled to see him. I’m just too tired for anything more than that.
He’s right there cupping my cheek, examining my face, which has to appear just as shitty as I feel. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not feeling so hot.” I’m not going to mention the bottle and a half of wine I finished last night. I need to sit down first before I start any sort of conversation with him.
“Let’s get you home.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and allows me to put my weight on him as we slowly move. I rest my head on him, breathing in his scent that has become so familiar to me. If this ends badly, I know any time I come close to smelling anything like him a wrecking ball will tear me down.
Vic continually kisses the top of my head with obvious affection and concern. I’m sure he believes I’m getting ill, and at the moment I allow him to. The combination of my emotions and hangover are worse than any flu.
Once in my bedroom Vic helps me remove my clothes, despite my protests. I would have never pegged Vic as a nurturer but he definitely is. He pulls out my nightshirt and slips it over my head, his hands strictly focused on the task and not my naked body. He helps me into bed, leaving to get me water and some Tylenol.
Vic quickly removes his own clothing, naked as he slides into bed, leaning against the bed frame. He pats between his legs for me to join him. I crawl into the empty space, resting my back to his chest, his warmth soothing.
I’m not ready to ask about last night, so I point to the book on my nightstand, “Read to me?”
Without any hesitation he reaches for it, starting on the page my bookmark is.
I try not to fall asleep, but the lull of his deep voice, his accent rich and thick while he reads, comforts me in a way I haven’t felt since I was a child. I drift off, my body feeling content and safe with him around me.
I’m not sure how long I conked out for. My room is dark, no noise from anywhere in the house when I wake. I shift, finding Vic still behind me.
I move my head so I can see his face. He’s awake and looking down at me.
“How long was I out?” I feel a little guilty that he was stuck there.
“A few hours.”
“You didn’t have to stay.”
“I know.” Vic repositions us, sliding our bodies down, turning me so now my front lays over him, head on his chest. “Are you hungry?”
My lips brush against his skin when I talk, “Not really. Are you?”
“I’ll be fine.” He strokes my hair, lowering his voice, “Sleep.”
Food makes me think of dinner, which makes me think of my aching heart.
In a sleepy, grumbled voice I mumble, “How was your day yesterday?”
“Fine.”
“Did the meeting go well?”
“Somewhat.”
“Did they take you out? Food’s always yummier when it’s free.” I’m doing my best to keep it sounding casual, and so far my tone hasn’t betrayed me.
“No.”
“Bummer. Did you get to do anything last night?”
“Nothing of importance.”
Jesus. I forgot what a conversationalist he is.
“Anything yummy to eat at least?”
Vic sighs deeply, my head rising and falling with it, “Rest, Freya.”
Now what? Do I call him out on the dinner? I don’t want to accuse
~~~~~
My head is lightly throbbing from way too much wine, and I drink a glass of water instead of coffee even though my sluggish body could use the caffeine.
Vic had told me he wouldn’t be at the café this morning and I’m grateful, still trying to figure out the best way to approach him. I try my best not to think about him not being here because another woman is sharing his bed. That kind of thinking will only add to my headache.
By the end of my shift the pounding in my head has taken to full-blown drilling and hammering. I’m completely drained from it and the lack of sleep.
Vic is waiting for me outside. I give a small smile even though my insides are beyond thrilled to see him. I’m just too tired for anything more than that.
He’s right there cupping my cheek, examining my face, which has to appear just as shitty as I feel. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not feeling so hot.” I’m not going to mention the bottle and a half of wine I finished last night. I need to sit down first before I start any sort of conversation with him.
“Let’s get you home.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and allows me to put my weight on him as we slowly move. I rest my head on him, breathing in his scent that has become so familiar to me. If this ends badly, I know any time I come close to smelling anything like him a wrecking ball will tear me down.
Vic continually kisses the top of my head with obvious affection and concern. I’m sure he believes I’m getting ill, and at the moment I allow him to. The combination of my emotions and hangover are worse than any flu.
Once in my bedroom Vic helps me remove my clothes, despite my protests. I would have never pegged Vic as a nurturer but he definitely is. He pulls out my nightshirt and slips it over my head, his hands strictly focused on the task and not my naked body. He helps me into bed, leaving to get me water and some Tylenol.
Vic quickly removes his own clothing, naked as he slides into bed, leaning against the bed frame. He pats between his legs for me to join him. I crawl into the empty space, resting my back to his chest, his warmth soothing.
I’m not ready to ask about last night, so I point to the book on my nightstand, “Read to me?”
Without any hesitation he reaches for it, starting on the page my bookmark is.
I try not to fall asleep, but the lull of his deep voice, his accent rich and thick while he reads, comforts me in a way I haven’t felt since I was a child. I drift off, my body feeling content and safe with him around me.
I’m not sure how long I conked out for. My room is dark, no noise from anywhere in the house when I wake. I shift, finding Vic still behind me.
I move my head so I can see his face. He’s awake and looking down at me.
“How long was I out?” I feel a little guilty that he was stuck there.
“A few hours.”
“You didn’t have to stay.”
“I know.” Vic repositions us, sliding our bodies down, turning me so now my front lays over him, head on his chest. “Are you hungry?”
My lips brush against his skin when I talk, “Not really. Are you?”
“I’ll be fine.” He strokes my hair, lowering his voice, “Sleep.”
Food makes me think of dinner, which makes me think of my aching heart.
In a sleepy, grumbled voice I mumble, “How was your day yesterday?”
“Fine.”
“Did the meeting go well?”
“Somewhat.”
“Did they take you out? Food’s always yummier when it’s free.” I’m doing my best to keep it sounding casual, and so far my tone hasn’t betrayed me.
“No.”
“Bummer. Did you get to do anything last night?”
“Nothing of importance.”
Jesus. I forgot what a conversationalist he is.
“Anything yummy to eat at least?”
Vic sighs deeply, my head rising and falling with it, “Rest, Freya.”
Now what? Do I call him out on the dinner? I don’t want to accuse
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