What? A semiautomatic weapon?

“We’re going to indulge in the official breakfast of champions for hangovers.”

Brows knitting, I lifted my head. He was grinning at me like I hadn’t gotten trashed the night before and tried to molest him. “What?”

“Waffle House.”

I stared at him, blinking slowly, and then I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat under the makeup I wore. “I don’t want to eat. I don’t even want to think about food.”

“You think that now, but trust me, the grease will do wonders for your stomach. I know. Have had a lot of practice at it.”

Shaking my head, I stood, now staring at the window. “I really think I just need to go back and take an eight-hour nap before I head into the bar tonight. And I think you need to leave. Not to be rude—”

“Don’t do this,” he said, and he was right beside me. I hadn’t even heard him move. “Don’t, Calla.”

My gaze shifted to his chest. How could he look good in the same damn shirt he’d slept in last night? I wanted to scream it wasn’t fair. “Don’t what?”

“Be embarrassed,” he said softly.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wrinkling my nose. “Easy for you to say.”

“Nothing’s easy for me to say. You have no reason to be embarrassed. You drank last night. You had fun, or at least you did up until you got sick—”

“Thanks for reminding me of that,” I groused.

“It’s common. Hell, do you know how many times I’ve found myself curled around a toilet swearing I’d never drink again? You don’t even want to know the horror stories I could share.”

But I bet he’d never tried to kiss a girl and gotten rejected, either.

“Calla, look at me.”

Hell to the no. “Like I said, I’m really tired and could really go for a nap.” Or a lobotomy. “So, if I could do that, it would be great.”

“Honey, don’t.” Two fingers curved around my chin, and there was no fighting when he lifted my gaze to his. I sucked in a breath, feeling a little dizzy again, and I wondered if there was still some tequila in my system. “You’re not going to listen to me, so this calls for drastic measures.”

I opened my mouth, but then Jax stepped back, dropping his fingers. Maybe a second passed and he dipped down. Before I could move or process what he was doing, he slipped one arm behind my knees and the other around my waist, and I was suddenly in the air, pressed against his chest.

“What the hell?” I shouted, grabbing on to his shoulders as he turned around. “What are you doing?”

Looking down at me, he took a deep breath. “When I was fourteen, I drank beer for the first time. Drank way too much at a buddy’s house and spent the entire night circling the toilet.”

I glanced around the bedroom. “Okay.”

“Did that so many times when I was kid, you’d think I’d learned my lesson,” he continued, watching me. “Then when I got back from overseas, some nights whiskey was all that got me to close my eyes for a few hours.”