Page 76 of Perfect Distraction
Chapter Fourteen
They kept talking for hours, though Andrew couldn’t have put his finger on exactly what they talked about. They simply talked. They talked about high school, about their hobbies and their best friends. She told him about Kate and Samantha, her closest friends from Cedar Creek, and he told her about some of his childhood buddies and the friends he’d made when he moved to Kansas City. They talked more about music, because they both loved it, and discovered they’d been at several of the same concerts that had been in Kansas City over the last few years.
“I wonder if we ever crossed paths,” Andrew mused.
“I doubt it. I think I’d remember…you’re pretty noteworthy.”
He laughed. He adored her pun addiction. “And you’re nothing but treble.”
She lifted one shoulder even as she grinned. “But if we had, do you think things would have turned out differently?” she asked.
“Maybe. If I’d asked you out back then, you’d have had no reason to turn me down. How refreshing.” He grinned.
“I still would have turned you down,” she returned. “You’re too attractive, remember?”
“I wouldn’t have given up easily. Just like now, I’d have tried to change your mind.”
“I hate to admit it’s working.”
“Good.”
His gaze roamed over her, and for a split second he considered moving closer to her, to see how she would respond. Would she scold him, or smile up at him, pleased he’d made the first move?
He thought back to the words she’d said just a few short hours ago.
She hadn’t tasted him yet.
He couldn’t do this much longer. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, from the way her breathing sped up as her gaze met his, her lip once again tucked behind white teeth. Damn, he wanted his teeth to be the one nipping at her mouth, his tongue following in the wake to soothe her skin. He craved it like he was an alcoholic and she was a bottle of fine whisky.
A slight wave of nausea passed over him, reminding him that had he been alone tonight, he would have skipped dinner altogether. But she’d been so excited about cooking for him, and she’d probably been starving. She hadn’t received chemo yesterday, after all. Though the queasy sensation was there and gone, he hesitated. “Should we start the movie?”
“Sure.”
Andrew picked up the remote. “Let the record state I didn’t pick this movie. It’s romantic, and I’m not sure you’ll be able to keep your hands to yourself. I promise I’ll be good, but if you suddenly feel the need to come on to me, I won’t say no.”
Lauren shot him a wry glance. “I’ll try to control myself.”
As the movie played, Andrew’s mouth felt dry, and his stomach churned. Please, not now. He tried desperately to focus on the movie, like he could use mind over matter to control his body’s response to the poison that had been shot into his veins yesterday. His favorite part of the movie was coming up, where Andrew Lincoln’s character comes to Kiera Knightley’s door and holds up signs to tell her that he’s always been in love with her.
He and Lauren had inched closer together throughout the movie, and he felt her hand cover his. His heart thumped in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the nausea or her proximity. Probably both.
He slowly turned his head and found her eyes on him, her gaze focused and her chin tilted up. Her fingers trailed up his forearm, caressed his bicep, and curled around his neck, while she simultaneously shifted onto her knees to bring her face closer to his.
Holy shit, he wanted this so much. He wanted her so much. His body vibrated with it, ached with it. He gently cupped his hand around the back of her head and pressed his forehead to hers, and his stomach heaved.
NO. He leapt off the couch and lunged for the hallway, barely getting the bathroom door closed behind him before his knees hit the tile. The burning, cramping sensation in his abdomen intensified tenfold, and he felt light-headed as the bile rose in the back of his throat. As the first wave of his stomach’s contents were expelled, the door opened and Lauren was at his side, her hand on his back.
“N-no,” he shook his head, pushing her away with his left arm. “Leave, please.” His right hand gripped the edge of the toilet and he spit, the acidic taste bringing on another wretch.
She didn’t leave, and instead began hastily rifling through his drawers. “Did you take anything today? Where’s your ondansetron?”
“Lauren, get out of here,” he ground out, mortified beyond measure as he vomited again.
“I know I sent in prochlorperazine, where is it?” Her pitch was rising, like she was getting panicked.
He began to sweat, and his stomach cramped again, and the desperation in his chest boiled over. He wanted her gone, far away from him when he was like this. When he was weak and sick and disgusting. He tried one last time, thinking of nothing but isolating himself. “Lauren, get the fuck out!”
He couldn’t see her reaction because his head was once again over the toilet, but he heard the door close. When he could breathe, he looked up and found himself alone in the bathroom. He closed his eyes and hung his head, rocking back on his haunches. He yanked the bath towel from where it hung on the wall and wiped his mouth.
