Chapter 23
Barrett
By the time we break up street ball in favor of water and food, I find Catarina sitting on the porch swing next to Stacie, several empty plastic shot glasses scattered at her feet. They’re looking chummy and are both snort-laughing.
“Hey, Fox,” Catarina says, her smile loose and wonky. “Have you had one of Jackson’s shots?”
She had trouble with the transition from one s to the next, hinting that she’s had several of Jackson’s shots.
“I have indeed. Enough to know that one is too many.” I peg Stacie with a meaningful look. “How many has she had?”
Stacie gives me a sloppy shrug. “Four or five?”
Ah, hell.
“Okay, Kitty Cat. Let’s get you out of here.” I bend and take her hands. “Do you feel sick yet?”
“Not at all!” She stands, wobbles, and I lock an arm around her waist to support her.
“You mean not yet.” I hate to break it to her, but she’s not going to feel this good in an hour.
Jackson climbs his porch steps, takes one look at Catarina, and says, “Uh-oh.”
“I’m told she’s had four or five of your shots.”
My buddy doesn’t laugh. He cringes. Then he bends to meet Catarina’s eyes. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. That’s a lot of Burke-bombers for any woman.” To me, he says, “I have a spare bedroom that’s free if you want to get her into bed. I mean to sleep.”
Catarina’s hands are rubbing my torso, her nose nuzzling my neck.
“I think I’ll take her home before something awful happens,” I tell him.
“Like puking in my rosebushes? Or on my shoes? Both have happened before.” He shrugs, not the least bit alarmed at the possibility. “She’d have nothing to feel embarrassed about.”
“Yeah, but she would.” I know her well.
“She’s from Bexley,” Stacie pipes up. “She’s classy.”
She is classy. And a hell of a lot different than my friends from Little Town. “Thank you for keeping her company, Stace, though you could’ve left out the shots.”
“She’s looking forward to post-game sex,” Stacie says to me. “I told her how you boys are.”
“Let’s take you inside. I have a slice of pizza with your name on it.” Jackson sends me a meaningful look as he helps Stacie off the swing.
“I like her,” Catarina tells me as we half-stumble our way across the yard. I’m steady. She’s not.
I wave at the rest of the guys as they pass by. Joel takes one look at my girl and concludes, “Burke-bombers.”
“Stacie’s good people,” I tell Catarina.
“You’re good people. I want post-game sex.”
I laugh, a sad sound because sweet mercy, I want post-game sex with her. The idea of her this relaxed while naked is a tantalizing thought I’ll be sure to store in the spank bank. But...
“I don’t think tonight’s going to be the night, honey.”
“Why not?” she asks in a petulant whine as I haul her a block to my car.
“I don’t want you to hate me in the morning.”
“I won’t. I can’t hate you. I thought I did but now I really like you. Really, really. Even though I don’t fit in with your friends and even though I’m rich and even though I’m a snob.”
“You’re not a snob,” I tell her with a smile. She’s fucking cute. “Snobs don’t know they’re snobs, so the fact that you pointed that out means it’s impossible.”
I unlock the car and help her sit but as I’m buckling her in, she grabs my neck and forces my attention on her. “I’m glad we’re dating, Fox. I was afraid we’d have sex and then you’d lose interest.”
It’s so honest, I’m dumbfounded for a breath or two.
“I was tired of resisting you for all the right reasons.” She drags a finger across my lower lip. “Now I want to glom you for all the wrong ones.”
“Well, Kitty Cat, I’m not sure what ‘glom’ means, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s a compliment.” She had trouble enunciating that word, too, and it was adorable. She taps her own lips. “Kiss.”
I deliver a soft peck before shutting her into the car and climbing behind the wheel. As I pass by Burke’s house, I honk and wave at the people littering the porch before driving my date back to her apartment.
At one time in my life I wasn’t a catch. I wasn’t anywhere near being looked at twice by a polished woman like Catarina. She’s not a carnival prize to be won, and I don’t see her that way, but I recognize that winning the attention of a woman who dated an uptight toad named “Northrop” is no small victory.
As we say in Little Town, it’s a big, honking deal.
Once I hit the highway, Catarina is out. Out out. Like, I couldn’t tempt her with greasy hashbrowns and cheese eggs from Waffle House out. I make a swift decision and exit the highway toward my apartment instead. I’m not dumping her off at home. I have hangover remedies at my house. Strong, black coffee, breakfast accoutrements, and Advil.
At my building, I park and step out, waving at the security guy at the desk. He comes jogging outside, ready to assist.
“Andre. Can you park this for me?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Fox.”
He’s cool. I like Andre. I twist the car key off my keychain and hand it over.
“Thanks. Drop the key through my mail slot when you’re done.” I gesture to my passenger seat and the pretty brunette slumped there. “I’m going to have my hands full.”
“No problem.”
I lift my date into my arms. She stirs enough to bury her face in my neck and mutter, “Dizzy.”
“If you feel sick tell me,” I say.
She responds with a snore.
In the elevator, I punch in the passcode to my floor and say a prayer that the woman in my arms isn’t motion sick. We reach my penthouse floor incident-free, thank goodness.
She’s deadweight, and I’m in shape, so it’s not an insult to her that I have trouble juggling her in my arms while sliding a key into the lock. The second I succeed in letting us into my apartment, she wakes up with a jolt.
“Oh God.”
Oh shit.
“Hang on, honey.” I rush her to the bathroom and deposit her onto the floor in time for her to make an incredible retching sound and puke into the toilet. A pitiful groan echoes in the toilet bowl. I gather her hair in one hand and rub her back as she does it again.
Another pathetic whimper precedes a few dry heaves, but I’m just glad that’s over for her.
After she flushes, she reaches for the toilet paper. I turn away to give her privacy as she blows her nose. A muffled groan follows. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry I left you at the mercy of Jackson’s Burke-bombers.”
“Ugh. Don’t say it.” She grabs another toilet paper wad and dabs the mascara from under her eyes. Then she looks around, acquainting herself with her surroundings. “Bet you’ve held a girl’s hair a time or ten.”