I fumbled for a bottle of ibuprofen in my medicine cabinet and swallowed four, followed by a glass of lukewarm water. Blech. But at least I probably wouldn’t wake up with a headache. Then I brushed my teeth furiously and gargled some mouthwash, which almost made me hurl again.

Rock pounded on the door, to the tune of a vibrating jackhammer. “You okay in there?”

I wasn’t the quietest puker in the world. If I could have disappeared into thin air, I would have. How could I look him in the eye? Didn’t matter, I assured myself. Rock and I were over. No way would I be going to bed with that douchebag again.

Though he had gotten me safely home.

Why did he keep doing things that endeared him to me?

But no. I was hardened. I splashed some cold water on my face and wiped the mascara raccoon eyes off with a cotton pad. Then I drew in a deep breath and opened my bathroom door.

There he stood, looking as magnificent as he had at dinner earlier.

“You okay?” he said again. “Can I get you anything?”

I let out a slow breath. “Just your absence. I’m going to bed.”

“Hey, Lacey. Don’t be that way.”

“Look.” I pushed him out of my way. “I have no intention of sleeping with you again. But even if I did, I am in no shape to get busy tonight. I’m exhausted—”

“And sick,” he added.

“I was sick.” Why deny it? He’d heard everything. “I’m okay now.”

He chuckled. “That’s a lot of money you just flushed down the toilet.”

Ugh, don’t remind me. “So if you’ll be on your way,” I said, “I’ll be getting to bed. I have a busy workday tomorrow.” Just thinking of my nine o’clock meeting had my heart pounding harder and my tummy doing somersaults.

“Let me tuck you in. I want to make sure you’re all right.”

My heart blipped a bit, but I was still not in the mood. I just needed my bed. I pushed him toward the door. “Please. Just go. Thank you for everything, but just go.”

25

Rock

I didn’t want to go. The fact surprised me more than a little, given I knew she wasn’t up for any kind of romp. I was feeling something new, something I wasn’t altogether comfortable with. I wanted to take care of her, sleep next to her, and hold her. Get her to the bathroom if she got sick again.

This was so not me, and it was freaking me out.

What was the best thing to do, then?

Leave, like she’d asked me to.

But not before I got her into bed—to sleep.

I reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I told you—”