Chapter Forty-One
Layla
I can’t think. Our coach is spouting off cheers to perform and even though my body is going through the motions like a programmed robot, my mind is definitely elsewhere.
Rachel stares at me. “Hey, Jared brought our food. Want some?”
I shake my head. The only thing I want is a bed or a rock. Something to hide under for a few days, possibly forever.
“Okay, no food for you then.” Rachel puts the box back by our bags. When she returns, she says, “We’re going to a party tonight. No ifs, ands, or buts. You need it. Even if you don’t hook up with someone, alcohol will help you forget. I’ll keep an eye on you. In fact, I solemnly swear to watch you the entire time so no creeps will hang on you.”
“I don’t know, Rach. That sounds like a terrible idea.”
“Well, it’s not. You’ll have hours of blissful unawareness. Sure, you’ll wake up with a bitch of a hangover, but at least you won’t think about him for a while.”
When she puts it like that, I’ll gladly take that headache in the morning. “I’m in.”
“Awesome! I’ll drive us there, and once you’re good and liquored up I’ll take us back to my house. This way you won’t get grounded by your mom for drinking and stuff. Cool?”
I could do this. The more she talked about forgetting, the more I wanted it. Tyler who? Yes. I want to forget every damn thing about him. I want to erase every feeling and every word I wasted on him.
With a plan in hand, I was ready for the rest of this night.
Okay, I lied. I’m not ready for this night. People will not be in the mood for partying or drinking if we lose to freaking Blackhawk tonight. This is our year to kick butt.
The girls and I go through all our cheers a few times as we watch our guys try to drive the ball down the field. Rachel squeals as Jared drops back into a shotgun formation and scans the field, but number fifty-six on Blackhawk breaks through the line.
Jared dodges the first attempt at a sack. He releases the ball just before another guy tackles him. The ball sails almost impossibly high, too high for any of the receivers to catch, but somehow Tyler leaps in the air and wraps his fingers around it. He catches the ball as if that pass were designed just for him and then he takes off.
He stiff-arms one guy attempting to tackle him. Tyler hops over another who dives for his legs. He pumps his arms and makes his way from the forty-yard line, to the thirty, he’s almost at the twenty, there is one guy chasing him. My heart speeds up and suddenly I’m yelling, “Go Tyler! Go! Go! Go!”
Selena shouts, “That’s it, baby! Go! Whooooa!”
I glare at her. “He’s not her baby,” I grumble to Rachel.
Rachel groans. “He’s not yours either, so don’t act like that.”
She’s right. I can’t keep acting like this, otherwise I’m no better than Adam.
Tyler runs in for a touchdown and our fans go wild, our whole cheering squad goes nuts, except me. I just stare like an idiot at him as he high-fives his teammates and then looks back at the cheerleaders.
I feel like our eyes lock for a moment but it could be trickery of the lighting or something.
Chase kicks the field goal and then screaming fans storm the field. While the cheering crowd pushes towards the players, I snatch up my bag and make my way to the parking lot.
I’m halfway to Rachel’s car when she finally catches up. “Wow, you really need a drink. We beat Blackhawk. That hasn’t happened in five years. Surely that should bring you some kind of joy.”
“Can we hit that party?” I ask, because the last thing I want to talk about is the game.
“Okay. Keep your pants on.”
We whip out of the parking lot and I watch the scenery change from street lamps and city life to big houses, thick woods, and darkness punctuated by occasional lampposts.
“Where are we?” I ask as she pulls up to a mansion that is very familiar to me.
“Don’t get pissed. It’s the only party happening tonight.”
I turn my full attention to Rachel and snap, “You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m trying to forget about the idiot, not party it up with him.”
“It’ll be cool. His house is so huge, we can grab you some bottles of whatever you want to get smashed on and we’ll go hang out at the opposite end.” She nudges me. “Come on. I’ll be by your side the whole time.”
This is a really bad idea. I’m already here, though, and cars are filling up the drive. It’s too late to back out at this point. Rachel promises she’ll have my back the whole night. Maybe it won’t be so terrible after all.
Whoever decided that getting drunk was a great way to get over people is flat-out the stupidest person ever. In fact, that person needs to be kicked in the face.
I’m trying to avoid Tyler at his own house party, that’s problem number one. Problem number two is, he’s literally everywhere. Baby Tyler, toddler Tyler, and Pop Warner football Tyler. I have to stop myself from melting. He’s so freaking cute. Why didn’t I realize how cute he was even as a kid?
I stumble along the hallway feeling queasy. Oh yeah, I’m going to puke. Where the hell is Rachel? She’s supposed to make sure this doesn’t happen. Lies. All lies. I knew better too. This was such a bad, very, very bad idea. I find the first open door and groan. It’s a bedroom. Why for once couldn’t I get lucky and find the bathroom on the first try?
The room is dark, but there is glimmer of light streaming the window that guides me to the light switch. Maybe there is a trashcan around here, because I’m not going to make it to the bathroom.
My fingers fumble along the wall and I press on a button. The room brightens, and I set the bottle of vodka in my hand on a desk then hurl. It’s safe to say I didn’t make it to a trashcan either. Nope. I puked all over Tyler’s hardwood floor.
I know it’s Tyler’s room because his uniform is on top of the hamper. Crap! I can’t even throw up without thinking of him. That right there is a sign I’m cursed.
Peering around the room, I notice there are way too many doors. I walk over to one and open it.
“HA HA HA HA, oh, of course, you would have your own bathroom.” I pray there are cleaning supplies of some sort in here.
The only things I find are some sort of bleach spray and towels. Not paper towels, but nice, plushy, you-could-make-a-fluffy-bed-out-of-them towels. Well, that’s just going to have to do. I snatch two white hand cloths and get to cleaning.
While I’m on my hands and knees, wiping up my mess, I hear a throat clear from behind me. “Layla?”
“Go away Tyler,” I snap as I spray the area and rub the floor. “I’m cleaning it up.”
“Cleaning what up? Why the hell are you in my room and using leather cleaner on my floor?”
“What?” I glare at the bottle in my hand and try to make out the words. Oh, being dyslexic and drunk is not a good combination at all.
“Right. Okay, I appreciate you cleaning … Why are you cleaning?”
“I threw up on your floor,” I admit, completely embarrassed.
He pulls me to a stand and looks me over. “Are you okay or do you feel dizzy?”
“I feel off my axis but that could be just from being around you.”
He smiles. “Okay, let me get you over to the bed.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to screw you, you moron!” I shout.
He laughs. “Calm down, Princess! I’m not into screwing girls who don’t want me sober.” He guides me to the bed and commands, “Sit! Please.”
I obey like a silly dog. He grabs a trashcan and places it in front of my feet. He walks over to the door and locks it. At least I think he locks it. I’m not sure at this point. My head is spinning.
Tyler walks into the bathroom and comes out a few seconds later with a bucket filled with soapy water. “I looked,” I declare.
“I’m sure you did. It’s okay. I really meant it when you said you were cleaning up your mess.”
“Do people just leave messes for you?”
He shrugs. “More than I care to talk about. I’m going to get you a bottle of water. Do not let anyone in this room.”
“How are you going to get in?” I ask annoyed.
He pulls out a key. “I usually lock my door.”
“Right, ‘cause you wouldn’t want anyone walking in on you going at it with Selena.” Then I bend over and projectile my insides in the trash can. Why do I have to be in a room with him while I’m sick? Stupid Rachel! This is all her doing.
I feel my hair being tugged back. His fingers draw circles on my back as I hang my head between my legs. My stomach churns, my heart speeds up, and my palms sweat. I pull back and Tyler leads me into the bathroom.
“You need to take a shower.”
“I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
He narrows his eyes. “As much as I want to see that, you have vomit all over your shirt. It’s kind of a turnoff.” He flips on the shower and I can see the steam billowing out.
“I’m going to be outside the door.” Tyler leaves and I stand there staring at the shower.
I look down at my shirt and cringe. Yeah, there is a big streak of my current mess. That’s so great. I peel out of my clothes and step into the hot spray. It beats my skin and a moan escapes my lips.
“Oh God, this feels so good,” I say.
“Soap is on the back wall. I’m going to put your clothes in the wash,” Tyler shouts from the other side of the curtain.
“Um … okay.” Wait what am I agreeing to? He can’t have my clothes. What am I supposed to do, sit in this shower until they’re clean? As lovely as this water is against my aching muscles there is no way in the world I’m going to stay in this bathroom that long.
“Uh, you know what? It’s cool. I just want to go home anyway, so … Tyler?”
There is no answer. Whatever. I glance at the back wall and try to figure out what bottles are what. It’s easier in my own shower because everything is in its own place.
I pick up a peach-colored bottle and pop the lid. Taking a deep whiff, the scent of oranges hits me. I squirt a small amount into my hand. The gel is almost clear, with just a hint of color. I put the bottle down and rub the mystery orange along my wet palms. As it suds up I pick up the bottle again and put more in my hand.
I’m not sure if it’s shampoo or body wash and at this point I don’t really care. I use it all over, head to toe. Once I’m lathered up and rinsed off, I step out of the shower and find a fluffy stack of towels on the sink.
I use one to dry myself off then wrap my hair with it. The other I wrap tightly around my body then I ease my way out of the bathroom.
Tyler is sitting on his bed with his head dropped into his hands, like he’s frustrated or something.
“I didn’t know how to shut it off.”
He looks up at me then his eyes drift down my body and back up.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Fine. Are you feeling better?”
“Not exactly. I’m naked. Have no clothes to change into. And I threw up in front of you. A shower doesn’t cure humiliation. And, oh my God. I said all of this aloud. I’m never drinking again.”
He grins as he makes his way toward me. “I have some clothes for you. The sweatpants are my sister’s and the shirt is mine.” He hands me the stack of clothes sitting on his desk and says, “I’ll be in the bathroom. Go ahead and change. My closet is a walk-in if you prefer more privacy. Oh, and there is a bottle of water on the desk. Please drink it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”