Blitzed by Alexa Martin

Author:Alexa Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

Stomach flu.

I was going to send more, but even the tapping of the letters and the flashing on my screen cause my nausea to roll back in.

I squeeze my eyes shut—wishing I paid more attention in first Communion classes and remembered any of the prayers they taught me—and wait for the nausea to pass enough that I can grab a glass and some crackers from the kitchen.

Even though my throat is so parched that I’m sure if vomiting up my intestines doesn’t kill me, dehydration will, I still don’t get water. I remember when I was sick as a kid, my mom lying in bed with me, holding a bucket in one hand and a glass of ice in the other. She’d said water was too heavy and would make my stomach hurt worse, so she’d lie with me for hours, giving me a spoonful of ice whenever I asked, running her slender fingers through my hair when she wasn’t spoon-feeding me. It’s one of the few positive memories I have left of her and so I choose not to question it.

I move at a sloth’s pace back to my couch, hoping my slow and even steps will ward off any more bile trying to escape my stomach. I lower myself onto my couch at a speed that challenges the most demanding exercise instructor’s squats, closing my eyes and releasing a moan that holds more pleasure than any one-night stand I’ve ever had.

My phone lights up and chimes beside me.

Paisley: Oh no! Do you need me to bring you anything?

I love that she asked. I’m proud of HERS for so many reasons, but I think number one on that list is creating a community of strong women who support and care about each other. Women get such a bad rap, but there’s nothing more powerful than a group of women. And every day in my bar, I’m surrounded by women who spend their nights laughing with new and old friends and handing out genuine compliments like it’s the most natural thing in the world—which I’m pretty sure it is.

Still, I love Paisley too much to ever expose her to the state of my apartment . . . and my face. My fingers dance over the screen.

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