At three-forty my alarm goes off. When I push up into a sitting position, I nearly pass out from dizziness. The contents of last night’s hastily gulped supper at the club threaten to make a reappearance.
I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. Once I feel like I can stand without throwing up all over my feet, I bend over to grab my phone.
Which is a huge mistake.
My stomach revolts. Vomit is in my mouth before I can make it to the bathroom, and I’m already throwing up before I can snap the toilet lid up. I drop to my knees as everything I’d eaten for what seems like the last week comes out and dumps into the porcelain bowl.
Oh God. I feel awful.
I heave until there’s nothing but pale watery bile. Still on my knees, I reach for a towel and wipe my face off. I’m sweating, I realize. Shaking, sweating, and sick as a dog. Weakly, I flush the toilet twice before dragging myself upright.
At the sink, I swish my mouth out with water and then stare at my pale reflection. I have to go to work. During every holiday season, there’s a shortage of workers and the full-time employees receive time and a half. I can’t afford to stay home.
I totter back to my bedroom only to stop at my door. Uh-oh. The water I swallowed isn’t sitting well. Sweat breaks out across my forehead, forcing me back to the toilet.
As I flush the mess away, I come to the realization.
I’m going to have to call in sick. There’s no way I can go in.
The clock beside my bed says it’s five past four. I’m already late. I pick up the phone and dial. My supervisor, Kam, answers right away.
“Kam, it’s Sabrina. I’ve been throwing up—”
“Do you have a doctor’s note?” he demands.
“No, but—”
“Sorry, Sabrina, you need to come in. It’s all hands on deck. You asked for these shifts.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. Sorry.”
“I’ve been puking all—”
“Look, I have to go, but as a favor I’ll go punch your time card so you aren’t docked or written up for being late. But you need to get in here. We’ve got so many frickin’ boxes to sort, I can’t even see the other side of the room. Doesn’t anyone shop at the mall anymore?”
It’s a rhetorical question, apparently, because he hangs up immediately after.
I stare at my phone and then push to my feet. I’m going to work, I guess.
“You look terrible,” one of the temporary workers comments when I stumble in twenty minutes later. “Don’t stand by me. I don’t want to get sick.”
I squint at her through narrowed eyes and am tempted to barf all over her starchy uniform. “Me neither,” I say shortly.
Kam arrives with a frown and his iPad. “Get over into bay four and start sorting. We’re so freaking behind it’s not even funny.”
I resist the urge to salute. I agree with him, though—there’s nothing funny about this situation. I feel terrible.
The whole morning drags on. I feel like I’m covered in tar, each movement of my body requiring so much effort. I must’ve gotten a flu bug. I’m worn down, just like Hope had warned, due to the two jobs, the full load, the worry about Harvard. I pushed myself too much this semester and now I’m paying for it.
When the shift is over, I barely have the energy to pour myself into the car and drive out of the parking lot. I make it home, but the minute I hit the kitchen, another wave of nausea strikes. I slap a hand over my mouth and rush to the bathroom.
“What’s wrong with the two of you?” grumbles Ray, who’s standing at the open door. He’s wearing one of his stained white tank tops untucked over a pair of gray sweatpants. In one hand is a beer.
You. You’re what’s wrong with us.
Then the meaning of his words sinks in. “What do you mean the two of us? Is Nana sick?”
“So she says. She didn’t finish making my breakfast. She got sick and had to go pass out in the bedroom.” He jerks his head toward Nana’s room.
I drag myself to my feet and stumble into her room. “Nana, you sick?” I ask.
The room’s dark and she’s lying on the bed with an eye mask on her face. “Yeah. I think I came down with the flu.”
“Shit. I’ve got it too.”
“I heard you puking this morning.”
“Sorry.”
She pats the bed. “Come over here and lay next to me, baby. You done with work?”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, I’m off until tomorrow morning. No club tonight.”
“That’s good. You work too hard.”
I crawl onto the space that she’s made for me. Back when I was little, I used to sleep with Nana. I’d get scared and she’d find me huddled under my blankets, crying into my pillow. Mom was off with Ray or one of the many men she had before Ray. Nana would carry me into her room and tell me that the monsters weren’t going to get me as long as we held on to each other.
I find my grandmother’s hand and twine my fingers through hers. “It’s only for a few more months.”
“Don’t kill yourself before then.”
“I won’t.”
She squeezes my fingers. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re uppity. That your momma thought about getting rid of you. I’m glad she didn’t. I love you, baby girl.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I love you too.”
“I’m sorry I’m not a better parent to you.”
“You’ve done a good job,” I protest. “I’m going to Harvard, remember?”
“Yeah. Harvard.” The word is filled with disbelief and wonder.
“What about me?” Ray whines from the doorway. “You never finished cooking breakfast and it’s now fucking lunch time.”
Next to me, I can feel Nana’s slight body shake and I don’t know whether it’s from anger or sickness. I force myself to sit up. “You stay here, Nana. I’ll get it.”
She turns her head away from the door, away from Ray, but also away from me. I guess, secretly, I wanted her to tell Ray to go fuck himself.
He grunts as I pass him on my way to the kitchen.
“What do you want?” I open the fridge and find it surprisingly empty. I wonder if Nana’s been feeling sick for a while and I haven’t noticed.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he says. He drags a chair away from the kitchen table and drops his skinny ass into it.
“Go watch TV,” I tell him as I pull out a block of cheddar cheese, butter and milk.
“Nah, I like seeing your ass in the kitchen. It’s just as good as any show.” He folds his arms behind his head and leans back. I can feel his beady eyes following my every sluggish move.
The bread looks surprisingly inviting and I tear off a small piece, chewing it slowly to see if I can keep it down. When my stomach doesn’t send it straight back in revolt, I eat another small piece. After a few moments, the dizziness and queasiness subside.
The cast-iron pan is already on the stove, and I have the sandwich ready to brown in no time.
“Don’t forget the soup, missy.”
I rub the side of my neck with my middle finger before crossing the room to grab a can of soup out of the cupboard.
“Why are you such an asshole?” I ask conversationally as I root around in the drawer for the can opener. “Is it because you’re a worthless sack of shit and can’t bear to look at yourself in the mirror? Or is it because the only woman you can con into your bed these days is a member of the AARP?”
“I’ve got plenty of pussy, don’t you worry about me. Someday you’re going to fall off your high horse and come crawling to me.” He makes a gross smacking sound with his mouth. “And maybe I’ll agree to fuck you, or maybe I’ll just let you suck me off when I feel like it.”
I’d rather kill myself.
No, I correct, I’d kill him first.
As I operate the can opener, I fantasize about the sharp lid coming o
ff and winging across the room and slicing Ray’s dick off. Then the acid of the tomato hits my nose, and an overwhelming urge to vomit washes over me.
I drop everything and race to the bathroom, where I throw up for the third time today.
18
Tucker
New Year’s Eve
At quarter past two, Sabrina appears at the entrance of the club. Her brown hair is pulled up in a high ponytail and she’s thrown a long coat over her skimpy waitressing uniform. An older lady exits behind her. The two exchange words, pausing under the dimly lit entrance.
My heart starts thumping erratically. I didn’t get to kiss her tonight at midnight to ring in the New Year, but I plan on kissing her all night long to make up for that. I missed her like crazy down in Texas, and even though my mom worked me like a dog, Sabrina wasn’t far from my mind.
I fixed the railing on the porch, helped Mom repot some of the perennials she was keeping in the garage, changed five light bulbs, the batteries on all the smoke detectors, cleaned out her furnace, and ran errands from the moment I got up until the moment I lay down. I’d also met with Mr. #1 Realtor and made all the right noises, but as hard as I tried to envision Sabrina in Patterson, the image never came into focus.
“Hey, handsome,” she greets me. “I didn’t know you were coming here. I thought I was meeting up with you tomorrow.”
“Couldn’t wait,” I say truthfully. “Happy New Year, darlin’.”
“Happy New Year, Tuck.”
I gather her up against me and bury my face in her exposed neck. She quivers in response to the light caress, and the half-hard cock in my pants rises to full mast.
Reluctantly, I set her aside and pull open the car door. “We better get going or all my good intentions are going into the shitter.”
“I thought your good intentions were to fuck me into tomorrow,” she teases, referencing one of the texts I managed to shoot off to her in between the chores my mom thought up.
I nearly tackle Sabrina to the ground, but despite her light words, I can see exhaustion in every line of her gorgeous face.
Instead, I nod toward the others trudging toward their cars. “Why give these folks a free show?”
“Good point.” She twirls the key ring around her finger. “Slight problem. My stepfather is home and I don’t know if we want a repeat of that last scene.”
I can’t imagine why. The fucking perverted bastard needs a fist in his face and a boot up his ass, but I don’t want to bring him into the equation. I’ve got a whole series of events planned out and they don’t include spending a second on that dickhole.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your stepdad,” I admit, “but I figured since it’s the holidays and I didn’t get you a present, that we’d do something different. Why don’t you get in?”
She swings her keys around again and then tosses them over to me. “You drive. I’m tired.”
I catch them easily and unlock the doors. Reaching in, I push the seat back so I’m not driving with my knees around my neck.
Sabrina climbs into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”
“Downtown.”
“Oooh, sounds like a mystery. I like mysteries.”
And I’d like to eat you up. I stare at her mouth for way too long before giving myself a mental head slap and putting the car in drive.
“How was everything? You feeling better?”
“I’m okay. It comes and goes. Nana is better, though, so I figure I just need to sweat it out a few more days and I’ll have worked the bug out of my system.”
I stretch my arm across the car and slip my hand behind her head. It’s been a long time since I’ve touched her, and I need this small connection.
“You want me to take you to a doctor?” I offer.
“Do I look that terrible?”
“No, you’re gorgeous, but you said you’ve been sick,” and you feel fragile—like brittle glass—under my hand, “And I want to take care of you.”
“No, I don’t want to go to a doctor.”
“Is it the cash? Because if you don’t want me to cover it, we could go to Hastings to the campus clinic.”
She shakes her head, a slow roll back and forth on my palm. I slide my grip lower to massage her neck, and she moans. The sound goes straight to my neglected cock.
“I’ve got insurance. I just need to rest,” she insists. “And it’s Sunday tomorrow, which means I get to spend the whole day bumming around and doing nothing.”
I decide not to push the issue. “What a coincidence. That’s my plan.”
This time when our eyes meet, her gaze is as hot as mine. I punch the gas a little harder than I intend to.
“A hotel?” she squawks when I pull up in front of the Fairmont ten minutes later.
I grin. “Merry belated Christmas.”
The valet reaches her side and opens the door. I hop out and round the front bumper, thanking him as I throw him the keys. This is all costing me a pretty penny, but I don’t care. Nor do I care that the doorman is smirking at Sabrina’s outfit and our car. He probably thinks I’m going to get ripped off by bringing a hooker back to my room.
“Your present is at my house,” she says mournfully as I join her on the sidewalk.
Draping an arm around her back, I gently push her forward. “You can give it to me tomorrow during our bumming-around time.”
“Deal.”
I lead her directly to the elevators and then stare at the digital display so I don’t attack her in the lobby of this swanky hotel.
“I’m pretty sure everyone here thinks I’m a prostitute,” she says dryly.
“If they do, it’s because that’s the only way someone as hot as you is allowing me to put my grubby mitts all over your body.”
“Bullshit, but that’s a nice compliment.”
“I’d kiss you right now, but since I haven’t seen you in ten days, I’d probably lose control and try to hump you in the lobby.”
“I can wait.” She stares pointedly at the bulge in my jeans. “Although, from the outline of your monster, my guess is that no one would be surprised.”
The dinging of the elevator doors covers my growl, but judging by the smirk that spreads across Sabrina’s face, I can tell she hears it.
We get off on the fourth floor. I barely make it inside the room before I have her pressed up against the door, my tongue inside her mouth, my hands pushing open her coat to grope her tits.
She moans, but it’s not a cry of passion.
Instantly, I drop my hands. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She quickly draws me back against her. “My boobs are extra sensitive for some reason.”
I run my hands down her sides. “Then I’ll be extra tender tonight.” I allow her to tug me in for another kiss before backing off. Reaching down, I adjust myself. “Give me a minute, darlin’. I didn’t plan to attack you the minute I saw you, but, hell, you know you drive me crazy.”
“Same.” She swipes a palm across her forehead, and her hand looks mighty shaky to me.
I wonder if part of it’s from hunger. “Why don’t you sit down?” I gesture toward the little couch against the wall.
Sabrina nods and walks farther into the room. Meanwhile, I press the heel of my hand against my cock and order myself to act like I’ve had sex before.
“How much did this cost?” She collapses on the loveseat and looks around in dismay.
“It’s nothing,” I assure her. “The guy who owns this joint is a Briar alum. He gives us a special rate. Don’t tell the NCAA.”
“Is that even a violation?”
“Don’t know. I’m operating under the don’t ask, don’t tell policy.”
“Gotcha.” She slips off her shoes and folds her coat over the arm of the couch, leaving her wearing only her tiny shorts and the bra.
God, she’s the hottest thing on the planet.
“What’s that?” she asks, her gaze landing on the gift-wrapped box sitting on the
center of the bed.
“Your present.” I had checked in earlier and left her gift in the room. Reaching out, I swipe the package off the bedspread and join her on the sofa. “Happy holidays.”
Her face lights up as she takes the box from me. I lean back and watch. I can’t wait to see her face when she opens it.
“What is this?” she asks warily. “It feels expensive.”
I snicker. “You can tell whether it’s expensive or not based on how much it weighs?”
“Of course. The heavier it is, the more it costs.” She bites her lip. “I hope you didn’t spend a fortune on me.”
“I promise you I didn’t.” I’m lying. It’s definitely more money than I’ve ever spent on a girl before, but I couldn’t resist.
One of Mom’s clients makes custom leather goods and sells them online, and she let me buy Sabrina’s gift at cost because there was a flaw in the leather. The defect is on the inside, but apparently for the prices she charges, even that requires a discount. I was thrilled to buy it. My mom? Not so much. She felt it was too expensive to buy for a girl I barely know, but this had Sabrina stamped all over it.
Beside me, she rips open the paper and then lifts off the lid. When the rich smell of leather wafts up, her mouth forms a perfect circle of surprise.
“What did you get?” she asks, but it’s not a question I’m required to answer. Her hands rip away the tissue paper to reveal the burnished leather and brass buckles of a briefcase.
“Oh my God, this is so gorgeous!”
I don’t have to ask if she loves it. It’s in every gasp and loving caress of the leather. Oh yeah, nailed it.
“Did I do okay?” I smile as I watch her lift every flap and unzip every zipper. She examines it, flipping it over and over. She even stands up to pose with it.
“You did amazing.” She finally sets the bag to the side and launches herself at me. “Amazing,” she repeats, punctuating that word with a kiss. “Now it’s my turn to give you a present.”
Licking her lips, she proceeds to move down my body and unzip my jeans.
My dick jumps out like it’s on a spring. She circles me with her hand and then gives me the dirtiest, most devilish grin before swallowing me to the back of her throat.