Deal Takers (Dealing with Love 2)

I angrily shove his giant body off of me. “Screw you, Brody! If you didn’t want to do this, you could’ve just been honest with me before getting me worked up.”

He smirks. “A, I’m glad you’re finally admitting how much I affect you. B, I definitely do want to do this,” he says, gesturing to the hard-on punching against his zipper. “And C, I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I’m genuinely concerned about you. You’re really clammy and pale all of a sudden.”

I’d hate to admit that when I clench my fists, my palms do feel unusually slimy. I just attributed it to the flush one gets when they’re aroused. Now that we’re not making out, I can also associate the flutters in my stomach to something a lot less pleasant. As if on cue, my stomach makes a horribly loud grumbling noise. I clutch my abdomen and gasp when a sharp cramp follows it. My eyes widen in horror when I realize what’s about to happen. Bile rises in my throat while my insides continue to wretch.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter as I leap off the couch and run down the hall to my master bathroom.

I barely manage to lock the door and make it to the toilet before all hell breaks loose. My body is violently ejecting my dinner from both ends. Okay, here’s the thing: I’m a Labor & Delivery nurse—I see a lot of gross shit on a daily basis. Sometimes literally, since it’s fairly common to have a bowel movement while pushing a human being out of your vag. Regardless, broadcasting the vile things that are coming out of my body right now is not something one wants to do near the man they were about to get naked with. I say a little prayer that Brody stayed in the living room and isn’t bearing witness to all the embarrassing noises echoing throughout the bathroom.

Knock. Knock.

“Rainey, are you okay in there?”

I groan and inwardly curse that luck isn’t on my side. Thank fuck I had the foresight to turn the fan on because the smell alone would make someone run for the hills.

“I’ll be fine,” I yelp as another stomach cramp hits. “You should just go home, Brody. I’m fairly certain I have food poisoning so we’re going to have to call it a night.”

“I don’t like leaving you like this,” he says through the door.

I heave into the wastebasket perched on my lap, and proceed to vomit horrid orange-tinted chunks of chicken and rice.

“I’ll be fine,” I insist. “Just go. I’ll call you tomorrow to reschedule.”

I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, trying to calm my gag reflex. I’m relieved when I’m met with silence on the other side of the door. I press down the flusher to help lessen the putrid scent coming from the bowl but I don’t dare leave the toilet, knowing more is coming fast. After who knows how long, I finally feel confident that I’ve expelled everything from my system. My mortification returns a thousand times over when I open the door and see Brody passed out on my bed. Dear lord, how long has he been in here? I take in the scene and see a giant sports bottle filled with water sitting on the nightstand next to a pack of saltine crackers. The wastebasket from the guest bathroom is sitting on the floor on the empty side of the bed with a freshly changed liner. I cautiously drink as much water as I can tolerate and slowly inch under the covers, no longer having enough energy to care how awful I must smell right now or what he must’ve heard. I don’t even remember closing my eyes before falling asleep.

Chapter Thirty-One

BRODY

My eyes reluctantly open against the rising sun filtering through the windows. It takes me a moment to realize where I am but the confusion clears the moment I see the woman stretched out next to me. She’s lying on her back with her left arm flung over her eyes. I can’t help but smile when I see the little trail of drool running down her chin. It doesn’t matter that she looks like she was on a week-long bender, with her matted hair, smudged makeup, and chapped lips. Rainey O’Neil smells like a frat house on a Saturday morning and I’m pretty sure that’s dried vomit in her hair, but she’s still the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of waking up to. I’ve dated some gorgeous women in my life but not a single one of them can hold a candle to her.

I feel a stab of guilt from staying over without her permission, but in my defense, I couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving her in that condition, no pun intended. I feel semi-responsible because I was the one that fed her the contaminated food. I don’t know how long she was in the bathroom, but I’m pretty sure she was taking catnaps on the tile floor in between bouts of projectile vomiting and pissing out of her ass. I know she’s embarrassed but she needs to get over it because I’m not going anywhere. It could’ve easily been me in that situation had she selected the beef instead of chicken. I wouldn’t have been happy about it, but shit happens. Literally.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Rainey groans as she stirs. She cracks one eye open and glances my way. “What are you doing here, Brody?”

Her morning voice wakes my dick right the fuck up. She naturally has a sexy rasp but it’s apparently much stronger first thing in the morning. I shift, willing Thor to calm the hell down.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone like that.”

I watch her expression morph three times in as many seconds as the memories from last night flood back in. “Unh...” she whimpers. She slams her palm over her mouth before mumbling, “You didn’t have to do that.”

I smile. “Sure I did. What if you needed to go to the hospital? I wasn’t going to put that on my conscience.”

She rolls her eyes. “I work in medicine, Brody. I know the signs of food poisoning and how to treat it. I didn’t need anyone to witness...that.”

“Why are you talking with your hand smashed against your mouth?”

“Because my mouth tastes like something died in it,” she replies. Or at least that’s what I think she said.

I laugh and get out of bed, stretching my arms over my head as I do. I don’t miss the way her eyes trace the movement. “Why don’t you go clean up while I make you some toast?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Nuh uh. I’ll be fine. You can head home.”

I smirk. “Wow, sweetheart, you really know how to make a man feel loved, but I wasn’t really asking. I’m not leaving until I know that you’re okay and I’m not going to know that until you prove to me that you can keep down some food and hydrate yourself. Now get your fine ass out of bed and in the shower. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.”

“Pushy asshole,” she mutters.