Miss Mechanic

When she snorted and almost choked on her mouthful of pizza, I had to bite back my own laugh.

Oh yeah.

I was going to tease the fuck out of her tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-Three – Jamie

There was a marching band inside my head. That marching band was made up of toddlers with pans and wooden spoons, and they’d all had their favorite toy taken away, so as well, as creating a new genre of music, they were screaming like they were a new metal band.

Not to mention that my head itself weighed the equivalent of a baby elephant.

Jesus. What the hell had I done last night?

I hadn’t drunk with Dex, that much I did know. Had I drunk so much at my parents’ that it’d taken a while to kick in?

I rolled out of bed and walked into the front room, holding onto my head.

Wait.

Where the hell were my yoga pants? And why wasn’t I wearing my bra?

Was I responsible for that, or…

God, no. Had I had sex with Dex again? Fuck, why had I thought it was a good idea to drink before he came for dinner?

The empty pizza boxes weren’t in the front room, and when I stumbled blearily into the kitchen, I found them flattened on the side. A glance into the trashcan showed a couple of leftover pieces and some crust.

Good. So… I’d been sober enough to eat, right?

I scratched my forehead and started the coffee machine before wandering back into my room. There was a piece of paper on the floor, and I bent down to pick it up.

Then sat down.

Holy spinning bedroom.

I blinked, and when the dizzy sensation had passed, I opened the paper, instantly recognizing Dex’s messy handwriting.

Jamie,

First: Nothing happened. You threw up, so I put you to bed, where you insisted I remove your clothes and change your bra. Your panties stayed on.

That part was underlined three times.

I appreciated the emphasis.

Second: Thank you for the random compliment on my cock when your head was in the toilet bowl. I appreciated knowing you vomited while thinking of my dick.

Oh, sweet fucking hell…

Third: You owe me a date. In public. Without you being drunk.

Wait. Who said last night was a date?

I paused as the memory flooded back.

I did.

I’d apologized for ruining our date, and he’d gone with it.

Shit…

Four: You’re probably already late when you read this, so you don’t have to come to work until lunchtime…where my sister will likely accost you into lunch. And you deserve that, you little lush.

Dex

Oh no, no, no…

This was why I didn’t like dating. I ultimately made a fool of myself. Except this time, the guy I’d tried to have a date with was first my boss, second the guy who’d screwed me against a toolbox, and third…

Well, I wasn’t even sure I liked him.

But the fact he looked after me while I vomited and put me to—

Motherfucker. He was going to be on my ass about this for as long as I lived. There was no way he’d let me live this down. What had I done, except for set myself up for almost constant ridicule?

Oh god.

This was going to be a disaster.

***

I took Dex at his word and didn’t show up until lunchtime. And by took him at his word, I mean I downed some pills, about three pints of water, and went back to bed.

After a shower and some more ibuprofen, I resembled something human. At least, I was more human than I had been when I’d woken up and read Dex’s letter.

I paid the cab driver and got out. Driving was not on the agenda today. Even if it meant I had to ask Dex to drive me home.

Hell—the guy had given me an orgasm, so I’m sure a ride would be no problem.

I walked slowly toward the open garage doors and adjusted my sunglasses. At least it was bright and sunny today so they didn’t look completely out of place.

Dex was leaning against the back of the Dodge, arms folded, ankles crossed, with the biggest, shit-eating grin on his face. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

I groaned, shielding my face from him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Mention how you wouldn’t let me leave unless I took off your yoga pants, or how you threw your bra at your light and it hung there like a Christmas decoration?”

“Stop,” I moaned, walking in the direction of the coffee machine.

“Or how you spent ten minutes throwing up after Ross wrote a Con list about Rachel?”

Friends? We watched Friends?

Jesus…

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I pressed the coffee machine button.

“Which, by the way, we never discussed this,” he said, following me. “But Ross is absolutely the worst character on that show. He and Rachel never should have been together.”

I gasped, clutching my chest and dropping my jaw. I spun around to face him. “How dare you swear at me!”