Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection by Violet Duke

Author:Violet Duke [Duke, Violet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary, General, Collections & Anthologies, Romance
ISBN: 9781941198957
Google: DnrdAwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Violet Duke
Published: 2014-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

WHY DO MONDAYS always suck? I feel like I never catch a break. This particular Monday happens to be the morning after my wall sex, and I wake up to a stomach that feels like it’s being stabbed with an ice pick. I hold onto it and run to the bathroom. My best guess is the brown butter scallops. Thanks, Dane. Standing over the toilet, heaving and freezing cold is not the way I pictured today. After my stomach is completely emptied and I feel a bit better, I manage to call and let Robby know I won’t be coming to work today. Then I slide back under the fabric of my sky blue comforter and drift off.

Hours later, I awaken to the buzz of my phone. In my sleepy haze, I almost knock it off the nightstand. It’s Brad.

“Hey, Gabby.”

Half-asleep, I try to sit myself up on the bed. My throat is hoarse and extremely sore from all the vomiting. “Hey, Brad.”

“You don’t sound so good, are you okay?” He seems concerned.

I lie back down. “I’m not feeling well.”

“What’s wrong?” He sounds a bit anxious actually.

“I’ve got a stomachache and chills and I’ve been throwing up all morning.”

“How about some chicken noodle soup?”

“What?” The thought of eating anything right now doesn’t appeal to me.

He speaks softly. “I’ll bring you some soup.”

“Really, Brad, you don’t have to do that.” I know I won’t be able to eat it, but I don’t want to offend him.

“I want to. Is there anything else you need? Crackers? Ginger ale?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a flash.”

“Let me guess, superhero flight?”

He laughs. “Nah, my cape’s at the cleaners. See you soon.”

I slowly sit up again and try to breathe. My hair is stuck to my face with a mix of sweat and vomit. I stumble out of bed and head for the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I’m greeted by a pale face and droopy eyes. How attractive. I take a quick shower to wash all the nastiness off, then dry myself, put some deodorant on, and run a brush through my wet hair. What’s the matter with me? It’s Brad, for heaven’s sake. Yes, it’s Brad. Better brush my teeth, too.

I replace my bathrobe with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. And a bra. The least I can do is not look like a granny when he gets here. Forty-five minutes later, the doorbell rings and there he is, adorable sunken dimple and all. His hair is messy and he’s breathing heavy. He’s holding a brown paper bag and a two liter bottle of ginger ale.

“Hi,” I stammer.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” he asks breathlessly.

“A little better, thanks. Did you run a marathon to get here? You look exhausted.”

He bends over and places his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. “I was just concerned about you. You sounded pretty awful on the phone.” He sets the bag and ginger ale down on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.

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