Dylan’s face paled and he sat back in his chair, bloodshot eyes locked on Tom. Mid stare down, they heard a groan from the sofa. All eyes swung to Frankie, who had stirred and was gingerly sitting up. She pushed her thick hair out of her face, which now looked an alarming shade of green.
‘I don’t feel so …’ she began, and then her hands shot to her mouth as she stumbled to her feet, nearly colliding with the coffee table. Tom shot forward and grabbed her elbow to steady her.
‘Bathroom,’ she choked out, and Lou signalled from the kitchen area where to go. After Tom half carried her to the bathroom she collapsed on her knees, gripped the toilet, and began retching. As she emptied an alarming volume of stomach contents into the bowl, Tom knelt down next to her and pulled her hair gently out of her face, stroking her bare back.
Lou stood in the door frame looking at them both on the floor of the bathroom. Tom was murmuring encouragement to Frankie, who looked like she was attempting to turn herself inside out, such was the force of her retching.
Bizarrely this turn of events made Lou smile.
Chapter 15
Badger-mouth
My head was banging.
I cautiously cracked open one eye and winced. Not a surprise, but I had obviously been too wasted to close my curtains last night, and with my crummy luck there was rare winter sunshine for once pouring in my window right onto my face.
I licked my dry lips, confirming the fact that I had a raging case of morning-after-badger-mouth. I felt heat at my back and something hot and heavy over my waist. This didn’t alarm me particularly. It wouldn’t be the first time Lou and I had shared a bed after a night out. It’s just that it was normally me making sure that she wasn’t choking on her own vomit, not the other way around.
I looked up at my side table and breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Lou had had the foresight to set me up with a pint of water before we went to sleep. I reached for the water, shifting slightly, and I felt Lou’s arm tighten on my waist.
‘Jeepers, Louey,’ I croaked. ‘I had the weirdest drunken dream last night, you won’t believe …’ I let out a small scream and dropped the pint glass, causing water to spill all over the carpet. I was looking down at Lou’s arm at my waist. Only it wasn’t Lou’s arm. That was, unless her arm had suddenly sprouted copious amounts of hair and doubled in size. I swallowed and slowly looked up into a pair of clear blue eyes.
‘Holy moly,’ I breathed, my eyes so wide it felt like they might bug out of my head.
‘Hi,’ Tom rumbled in a sexy morning voice. ‘You feeling better?’
I’d never heard Tom’s morning voice and I’d certainly never seen his bare chest, which was very much on display at that moment. My eyes dropped down of their own accord: just enough chest hair, broad, hard planes. Perfect. I realized that I was staring and forced my eyes back to his face; he was grinning.
Gah!
He’d noticed my perving.
His hair looked much the same as it did when he arrived to work in the morning. Not a surprise, as he had never struck me as the kind of man to waste time on styling. I knew he was the type to have a five-o-clock shadow, mainly because I had frequently witnessed this lush occurrence whilst working for him. His stubble this morning was much thicker. Looking at it, I could practically feel my ovaries give a little jolt, as if they were acknowledging the potent specimen of manhood in front of them and begging me to procreate while I had the chance. Tom squeezed my waist to get my attention.
‘Frankie? Have you stroked out or something?’
‘Maybe,’ I croaked, and he chuckled (this also being low and rumbly and one of the sexiest sounds I had ever heard). ‘Um …’ I cleared my throat nervously, ‘what are you doing here?’
His brows drew together, ‘You don’t remember?’
I wracked my brains. Mr Fletcher groping me was the last thing I could remember. After a minute or two, I sucked in a breath as some other images flashed through my hung-over brain. Tom punching Mr Fletcher, half carrying me out of the bar, getting into his van … and I think I might have told him about my ferret/sperm plan.
Gah!
I couldn’t remember anything after the van.
‘I remember getting into the van but then everything’s a bit, um … fuzzy.’ I slid my eyes away and made another attempt to get up. This was met by more pressure from his arm across my waist. What on earth was going on? I made the mistake of looking back into his eyes and slid straight into a Tom-induced stupor.
‘You don’t remember anything after the van?’ he asked. As I was in a waking Tom coma, I couldn’t reply. ‘Frankie?’ he called, giving my waist another squeeze. ‘Do you remember what you said?’
I snapped to attention at that. ‘What did I say?’ I asked urgently, and this time it was his turn to slide his eyes from mine, a small smile forming on his lips.
‘Nothing much,’ he replied dismissively, but I noticed that he wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘You did throw up though,’ he informed me, meeting my gaze again. ‘A lot,’ he clarified. ‘Actually I was a bit shocked that you could produce that volume of vomit. You must have puked at least twice your bodyweight. Medical miracle.’
I made a small sound of distress as the embarrassment washed over me, and closed my eyes.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered, mortified.
