Broken Course (7 page)

"It’s not enough. I can’t live like this."

"So, what? You’re now planning to kill yourself? You think that would help Erica?"

"No, but it would help me!" I scream.

"Leo," I hear Erica squeak from behind me.

Fuck.

"I have to get out of here." I walk past her, not even able to look her in the eye after what I know she just heard.

I pass Johnson, who’s standing at the door. He’s no doubt the asshole who let Slate up here today. Then I rush down the back stairs until I hit the parking garage only to realize I never found my keys or wallet.

The door swings open behind me and I steel myself for more of Slate and Erica. But it’s Johnson who comes leisurely strolling out, immediately lighting a cigarette.

"Come on, boss. I’ll take you wherever you want to go." He walks over to an immaculately restored muscle car.

"Shit. Thank you." I climb into the passenger’s side, not sure where I’m planning to go. This is the first time I’ve ever actually wanted to run from Erica.

I HAVE been hit by a car—no, it was definitely a truck. That is the only thing I can imagine to explain why my whole body aches. As my stomach lets out a low rumble, last night comes rushing back to my memory. Food poisoning. Shit...

"Sarah," I groan just as her phone starts ringing.

I glance over at the clock to see that it’s well past two p.m., but with most of our night spent throwing up, I’m not even the slightest bit surprised that we slept all day.

Sarah blindly feels around the floor for her phone before finally answering it.

"Hello," she croaks, and I can hear a woman on the other end of the line start laughing. "Emma, hush," she pleads, pulling it away from her ear and looking for the volume button on the side of her pink iPhone.

"So how’d it go with Leo last night after y’all left?" I hear Emma ask just as Sarah puts the phone back to her ear.

"Not good. He tried to kill me," she responds, throwing an arm over her forehead.

"What?" Emma yells.

"I didn’t try to kill you," I moan as I try to sit up.

"Oh my God. You’re still with him!" Emma shrieks. Even though Sarah turned the volume down, I can still hear her reaction clear as a bell.

"It’s not what you think. Apparently, Leo’s idea of celebrating is giving me food poisoning."

"Hey, if it had been intentional, I definitely would not have given it to myself too." I stretch my aching muscles before dragging myself to the kitchen.

I fight down the nausea as I open the fridge. Yeah, food is officially off the menu for today. After grabbing a bottle of Gatorade, I pause only to snag two glasses on my way back to the bedroom.

"I’ll call you when I’m ready. I honestly don’t think I can move right now," Sarah tells Emma as I set a glass down the nightstand. "Okay, bye." She hangs up and curls her lip at the Gatorade as I pour it. "There is no way I’m drinking that."

"Come on. You have to be dehydrated. How are you feeling?" I ask, sitting down on the bed next to her.

"Terrible. My whole body is sore. What did you do to me?"

None of the things I wanted to do. That’s for sure.

Luckily, I manage to keep that little tidbit to myself and reply, "Jesus, I’m so sorry."

"This might very well be the worst first date in history." She gives me a weak smile.

"I’m encouraged that you only said ‘might’ because I can’t imagine it going any worse." I lean back as she slides over to make more room. I don’t even have enough energy to walk around to the other side.

"I only said ‘might’ because you carried me to bed and didn’t let me sleep on the bathroom floor," she teases with a warm and sleepy smile.

"Well, at least there’s that." I smile back. "So, I need to shower. Since I’m relatively sure neither one of us has big plans for the day, why don’t you hang out here? I’ll get you a toothbrush and some clothes and we can watch movies on the big couch in the rec room. I won’t even offer to feed you."

"Oh God, don’t even mention food," she groans and covers her mouth.

"No food, I swear. Just you, me, Gatorade, and bad eighties movies." I reach over to grab her hand. It must catch her off guard, because her eyes snap to mine. I squeeze tight, refusing to release it. "I’ve never had a woman puke to avoid kissing me. You owe me."

"I
owe
you?" she asks amused.

"Yes, you owe me some serious hand-holding for the way you behaved last night."

"Excuse me?" She sits up only to regret the sudden movement.

I chuckle to myself as she clenches her stomach and slowly leans back on the bed. Then I take the opportunity to slide an arm under her and inch over closer.

"Okay, okay. We can cuddle if you insist." I curl her in my arms as she huffs. I can tell she’s not really annoyed when she relaxes into my side. "So, what do you say? You want to hang out and commiserate with me?"

"Sorry. I don’t like green Gatorade," she responds with a shrug.

"I have red too." I toss her a wink, knowing good and damn well she is making excuses.

"I don’t like ‘eighties movies," she states, flashing me a smile.

Shit.
Her smile
.

"Fine. We can watch whatever you like. But, just so you know, that’s a serious issue we are going to have to discuss at a later date."

"Who says there is going to be a later date?" she asks, and her smile grows to full blown. "I don’t like you." She bites her lips to contain a laugh, a task I’m learning she is terrible at.

"Oh come on. Now you are just being ridiculous. You like me. You jumped right into my bed on the first date," I tease even though I feel like absolute hell, and the sound of her laughter soothes me as it flitters around us.

"I did not! You carried me to your bed."

"Oh look. We are right back where this conversation started. I carried you to bed, so now you are going to reward my chivalry by spending the day with me." I slowly push up to my feet. My stomach cramps, but I forge ahead to the dresser.

"Here." I pull out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats and toss them onto the bed next to her. They won’t fit her, but that is probably for the best. I’m in no condition to even entertain thoughts of sex, but for some reason, I can’t stop them from flooding my head.

Even after spending the entire night in the least appealing way possible, Sarah Erickson is fucking sexy as hell. She should’ve woken up this morning looking like a troll who’d spent the night drowning in the rain. But with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her eye makeup slightly smeared, she still oozes sex appeal. Yes, she is beautiful. But her lithe body makes her every move sensual. She tries to play coy, as if she is intimidated by her own overwhelming confidence—the same confidence that makes my dick hard every time I even look in her direction.

"You can use my bathroom. I’ll use the one in the guest room. Towels are under the sink." I say, swinging my own T-shirt and shorts over my shoulder. "Oh, and call Mama Erickson back and tell her I’ll bring you home tonight," I order as I walk from the room.

Sarah doesn’t actually agree to stay, but she doesn’t argue anymore either. That’s more than enough for me.

"I’M NOT watching
Vision Quest,
" Sarah declares while lying on the couch.

"Yes, you are. I’ve had a ridiculously shitty twenty-four hours. Last night, I took a woman on a date and she gave me the stomach flu."

"It’s not the stomach flu! It’s food poisoning from the restaurant you insisted we go to." She laughs weakly then covers her mouth at the very mention of dinner.

"You say potato, I say—"

"Food poisoning," she cuts me off with another groan.

"Okay, fine. I give up. What do you want to watch?" I ask.

We’re lying on opposite ends of the couch; our legs are tangled in the middle. I inch down to get closer. I’ve given it a seriously less than mediocre effort, but I can't seem to stop touching her. It’s just something about the way every connection sends a spark of electricity through… Okay, fine. She makes me hard. Every. Single. Time. I feel like death warmed over, but every time her foot brushes up my leg, even inadvertently, I go stiff.

Sarah Erickson is phenomenal dressed up and flirting over a meal, but surprisingly enough, she’s pretty freaking amazing in baggy sweats while laid up on my couch too.

"
Vanilla Sky
," she answers.

I curl my lip in disgust. "Is that a movie or flavor of ice cream?"

"Oh my God. Food. I hate you." She starts kicking me while holding her stomach. "It’s a movie."

"I’ve never even heard of it."

"Really? It has Tom Cruise and Penelope Cruz in it. I’m sure you remember seeing the old clips where Cameron Diaz goes off about swallowing Tom’s come."

"What the hell kind of movie is this?" I ask, surprised, and she begins to quietly giggle. "I had no idea Cameron Diaz did porn. I’m seriously out of the loop."

"Oh my God! It’s not porn, Leo. It’s an amazing, thought-provoking, beautifully filmed emotional rollercoaster." She smiles and it lights her already bright, blue eyes.

"Well, in that case, it definitely sounded more interesting when I thought it was porn. Thought provoking just means I’ll spend half the movie confused. And beautifully filmed means I’m going to spend the other half watching sunsets in either slow motion or fast forward."

"Oh, please tell me you are not one of those guys who only watches movies like
Transformers
and
Batman
." She slaps a hand over her eyes.

"Hey! What’s wrong with
Batman
?"

"I didn’t think it was possible for you to become any less attractive after last night," she says, tangling her legs tighter with mine.

"Liar." I smirk and grab the remote, flipping through the on-demand movies. "Okay, let’s see if we can find this
Vanilla Ice Cream
porno you are so eager to watch. But…you have to come over here by me if you want me to watch this crap."

"It’s not crap. I love this movie," she responds as I press play.

"Come on. Get up here." I scoot over to the edge, allowing her just enough room to squeeze in next to me. She doesn’t move, so I just shrug and hit the menu button on the remote. "Okay, looks like
Vision Quest
will be playing at the James Cinema today after all."

"This is blackmail."

"Just a little," I reply, patting the couch next to me.

She groans before crawling forward and tucking herself into my side. She rests her head on my chest but keeps her arms at her sides. I almost find it comical. However, before Tom Cruise even starts running through Times Square, she drapes her arm across my chest and begins stroking up and down my side.

We spend the rest of the day lounging on the couch. We talk, sleep, and laugh—a lot. We both feel like utter shit, but I’ll admit that I’m actually enjoying my time lying around with her. It is a million times better than being miserable alone. She is always touching me. It isn’t sexual, but it is definitely flirty. And it doesn’t feel forced or awkward either. It feels, well…normal.