Unnecessary Roughness by Alison Hendricks

Author:Alison Hendricks [Hendricks, Alison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lovelight Press
Published: 2018-02-21T16:00:00+00:00

13

Nate

"Nate."

I can hear my name being called, and my half-asleep brain fills in an image to go with it. Owen lying in bed next to me, his skin against mine as he presses against my side.

Warm breath tickles my ear as he says my name again, and a smile works its way onto my face. I'm not even really sure which way is up right now, but his warmth against me is soothing and the gentle sound of his voice is enough to lull me deeper into a comfortable sleep.

Until it isn't.

"Nate. Come on, man. Get your ass up."

This time there's nothing gentle about it. He's not whispering sweet nothings in my ear. He's barking at me, pulling me out of what I'm now starting to realize is just a really vivid dream. Fuck.

I force my eyes open--they're sticking together a little, which is just great--and squint against the light. Owen definitely isn't naked beside me. He's fully dressed and standing over me, a rough hand shaking my shoulder.

"Dude, come on. You'll miss the bus." The bus? The fuck is this, junior high? I slowly look around, trying to keep the room from spinning.

Still my dorm at ESC. I haven't managed to roll back the clock that far, thank fuck.

"Time is it?" I mumble, my mouth tasting like plastic for some weird reason.

"Eight. The bus'll be here in an hour."

My stomach lurches and my head pounds as I pull myself up to sit. Jesus fuck, I drank too much last night. I don't even remember it, but I know I must have. Nothing else leaves me feeling this way.

"Here." Owen presses a hot styrofoam cup into my hands. "Chug this. It'll help."

My brain's still not really able to process what's going on, but I do as he says. The bitter taste of coffee coats my tongue, and I can't really decide if it's better or worse than the plastic taste. Kind of a toss-up right now.

"Take my water, too."

A bottle is thrown my way, and I just barely manage to catch it in time, the water sloshing inside the container. With some effort, I unscrew the cap and take a big drink.

"I think I've got some Tylenol or something somewhere," Owen says, rummaging around in a drawer.

Feels like I'm living at home again and my mom is fussing over me while still trying to get my lazy ass up to make the bus on time. But again, my brain's aware enough to figure out I'm not a kid anymore, and it's not too much of a leap to understand the bus I need to drag myself onto is for a game.

Somewhere down in Tampa, I think. I swore that was tomorrow, though. Jesus. Why did I decide to get plastered the night before an away game?

Looking up, I see the answer staring down at me with a mix of concern and irritation. Right. Owen. Somehow it always comes back to Owen.

Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I try to stand only to get hit by stomach-churning nausea.

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