The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love 1)
Head still bent, hands on her knees, she hurls again.
Gasps. “Ugh. This tastes like chocolate.”
I bet it does. She sure ate enough of it. “You’re probably throwing up because you ate nine hundred s’mores.”
I pat her gently on the back.
“How many?” Her glassy eyes get wide as her head whips up at me.
Shrugging, I’m still holding her ponytail. “Erm, maybe nine hundred?”
“Nine hundred?” she shouts. “Did I? Oh my god, I’m so greedy!”
More sobbing.
“Uh, maybe not that many—I wasn’t counting,” I lie again. “It was two. Or three.” My soothing tone seems to calm her down and her body seems to relax. “I was exaggerating.”
“Thank god. Nine hundred is a lot and who—” She pukes into the grass again, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Ew.
“—who has that many marshmallows even.” Carefully she stands, seemingly done doing the deed. “That’s like eighty bags at least.”
I look away while she sweeps the hair back from her face, pulling some loose strands that have gotten stuck to her lips
“I’m so sorry, David.”
Doing my best not to cringe or comment—’cause she’s so freaking wasted—my first instinct is to carry Juliet back to the camper and make this job easier. I just don’t want to freak her out or scare her, and god forbid, she has to hurl again.
It’s slow going getting her back, and eventually, I am able to talk her into bed. I am, however, unable to clean her up—she’s practically half asleep by the time we walk to the door and I don’t want to wake her up by putting cold water on her face.
Tucking her in, I remove her shoes before slowly creeping out of the room and inching closed the door, making the kitchen table into its convertible sleeping area. I’m definitely way too tall to be comfortable tonight, but it’s not like I’m going to climb in the bed with Juliet; can you imagine her waking up in the middle of the night and finding a random dude next to her?
She would probably wake up the entire campground.
Juliet is a determined, stubborn little thing—I know she doesn’t care for me and I’m still confused about how she got so damn drunk tonight, vowing to keep a closer eye on her tomorrow for Mia and Thad, though it’s not technically my job to do so.
I am not here to babysit, yet here I am babysitting.
Mia and Thad have been lost in their own little world since we arrived—basically MIA. I highly doubt they noticed their little friend downing moonshine and stuffing s’mores into her gullet, let alone be present as she puked her guts out.
I climb onto the makeshift bed, hands clasped behind my head, all the bedding still on the bed in the main sleeping space except for the blanket beneath my ass.
This weekend was supposed to be a bonding trip for the four of us, so we could all get to know each other better, but Mia and Thad have all but abandoned Juliet and I to make lovey-dovey eyes at each other and have sex every opportunity they get.
Don’t blame them, but I do miss my buddy time.
I thought we’d be doing more group shit together, not just be getting hooked in the face by errant fish hooks out on the lake followed by a six-hour nap by Juliet.
Hiking?
Checkers?
Canoeing?
Perhaps I’ll see if Juliet is up for a boat ride tomorrow—a calm activity may soothe what is sure to be a massive hangover; and if I promise to do all the rowing, how will she resist?
I mull this over, contemplating paddles, life jackets and a picnic lunch; wondering how I’m going to get ahold of a few sandwiches, so Juliet and I can steal away tomorrow and leave our best friends in peace.
If I was a betting man, I would wager that Thad and Mia have banged in the woods. Obviously I have no proof of this because obviously I would never ask, but I would be disappointed to find out they haven’t done it against a tree.
Lucky bastard.
Bang.
Snap.
The telltale sound of branches breaking outside the camper startles me to an upright position, rattling noises follow that sound like garbage cans being ransacked.
There are zero garbage cans anywhere nearby—the groundskeepers even removed them after the bonfire and I guarantee they lock them up somewhere overnight, so critters don’t get them.
Crash.
Bang.
There is definitely something outside.
A shiver goes up my spine.
Could it be a bear?
Jesus, bears scare the shit out of me.
No one needs to know this, but I am a giant chicken shit, afraid of the following:
Bears
Rabid raccoons
Squirrels with a hungry look in their eye
Shark infested waters though I’ve never been in shark infested waters
Basically anything that lives in water with teeth, a stinging tail, or spines
Large cats of prey
Falcons
Masked killers from any horror movie
It’s an odd list, I know—and doesn’t leave much room for the wilderness. Basically, I walk through the woods with one eye on the sky and another over my shoulder, waiting for the next wild animal to make me his next meal, ready to duck for cover.