Chapter 17

“I told you I needed to sit!” Lara whirled on Zavien and smacked her palm hard against his chest as soon as Travis left to clean himself up. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed angry, but disgust had been written all over his face.

“I thought you were being dramatic.” He ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck, his ears going red. “Let’s get you inside,” he said after a moment, in which he looked dutifully apologetic while she stewed in her embarrassment.

She sighed but let him guide her in.

Zavien dropped her shoes onto the rack by the door as she gingerly sipped the water Travis had gotten her—miraculously free of her vomit. “So, you and Travis?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face and his tone dripping with disbelief.

She glared at him despite holding on to him for dear life, worried that if she made another tumble to the ground, she would simply die there. “You don’t have to sound so doubtful.” She scowled. “Not everyone thinks I’m a bitch.”

He stiffened beside her.

“I don’t know why you hate me so much,” she continued as she directed him over to her couch.

“Why do you hate me?” he countered.

“I don’t hate you. I think you’re intensely annoying and have a flagrant disregard for the rules of society, but I never hated you.” She nestled into the cushions. “Can you pass me that pillow?”

He reached over and grabbed the fluffy blue throw pillow from the armchair beside him, saying in a quiet voice, “I don’t hate you either.”

Instead of responding, Lara hummed contentedly and hugged the decorative square to her body.

“Are you going to sleep here?”

“Just for a little while until I can make it to the shower. Gonna wash my hair and hope the suds soak into my brain and remove the memory of me puking on Travis.”

Zavien’s chuckle was soft but genuine. It made her feel warm, and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “I don’t think you have to worry about Travis,” he said. “You are remarkably difficult to hate.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel bad for hurting my feelings,” she mumbled, letting her eyes slide shut, too tired to keep them open anymore.

“I hurt your feelings?” He sounded surprised.

She only hummed in reply but peeled one eye open to look at him. He loomed over her couch, looking both confused and strangely in place among her things. Distracting herself from that thought, she pulled her phone out of her wristlet to text Delia.

“How do you spell ~spew~?” she wondered aloud as she took far too long to send a text message riddled with spelling errors and typos. After she was done, she let the device fall onto the couch and looked back toward Zavien. “Thanks for helping me,” she said grudgingly.

“It was the least I could do.”

“That’s true,” she agreed.

He huffed out a short, breathy laugh.

“G’night, Zay,” she mumbled, sinking further into the fluffy cushions.

“Good night, Lara,” was the last thing she heard before she succumbed to sleep.

***

The next morning—or afternoon, really—Lara groggily wobbled to the kitchen to make herself a coffee big enough to drown in. She didn’t even make it as far as pulling the coffee grounds out of the cupboard when a note on the fridge captured her attention:

Hope the hangover isn’t too bad, but in the event that it is, you are welcome to partake in the best hangover cure known to mankind. Just knock on my door (or let yourself in, you’re good at that).

—ZC

She plucked the pink note off the fridge and read it over carefully—once, twice, probably five times. Then, she smiled to herself. ~Maybe 32D isn’t so bad after all~, she thought.

Swimming pool of coffee forgotten, Lara shuffled into her bedroom to slip on the only clean clothes left after avoiding laundry for too long—those goddamn pink shorts and a big, comfy sweater.

Satisfied, she headed for the door to claim her hangover cure, but before she could open it, a light knocking sounded.

As she pulled it open, she smiled to herself. “I thought I was supposed to knock on your door,” she teased, but her smile gave way to surprise when she looked up and did not see the shock of silver hair that she had expected. “Travis!”

“I promised you coffee, didn’t I?” he said, brandishing two to-go cups. “It’s not too early, is it?”

“Not at all,” she said, extending a hand to accept the coffee. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you after… You know.” Her face burned, and she stepped aside to let him in.

“What’s a little puke between friends?” He nudged her shoulder. “I am sorry for abandoning you, though.” After he entered, he stepped out of his shoes. “How did it go with him?”

“It was fine.” Her stomach twisted as she thought of the note he had left on her fridge.

Travis’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” He sank onto her couch and patted the cushion beside him.

As hard as it was to believe, Lara thought that maybe she and Zavien had turned over a new leaf.

After all, hadn’t she just been ready to go over there and see him? Wasn’t she excited to find out what his cure was all about? Maybe also intrigued by the prospect of spending more time with him and learning what made him so incredibly irritating?

But now, Travis sat in her apartment, smiling so kindly at her, and the coffee he had brought smelled of strong espresso and hazelnut—her heart warmed that he had remembered her favorite.

So, she put the sticky note out of her mind and joined Travis on the sofa, sipping her drink and chatting away.

Over the next couple of hours, before Travis had to leave to get ready for his evening shift at the hospital, they talked about what had transpired between Lara and Zavien the night before.

Travis vowed to help her make Zavien jealous again, but the Delia on her shoulder told her to refuse. Lara felt stuck; she could either pursue this new-leaf relationship with Zavien and have a quiet life or continue the game they had been playing.

Which was, admittedly, a lot more fun.

And a bit sexy.

By the time Travis left, the little Lara with devil horns was screaming, ~Do it, do it, do it!~ Who was she to ignore her inner voice?

But plotting had to wait because it was her last day off, and she really did have to do her laundry. If there was anything she hated more than spending a day off washing and folding, it was having to do it in the communal laundry room in her building.

It was times like these when she missed the luxury of the en suite laundry at Delia’s.

Grumpily, she piled a load of lights into her basket and made her way out of her apartment.

“Nice socks,” Zavien said as soon as she locked her door.

Lara looked down at her mismatched socks—one pink with yellow polka dots, the other green with white stripes. Then, she glanced up at him. “Laundry day.” As if the dirty clothes in her arms weren’t clue enough.

If he was fazed by her ignoring his invitation, he didn’t let on. He looked as calm and collected as ever, while her stomach tied itself into knots. Maybe it was because he looked nice again—this time wearing slacks instead of jeans and dress shoes in place of boots.

She wondered whether this was his second-date outfit or if he simply thought this woman was worth dressing up for.

“I see the spandex has made a valiant return,” he noted, his head tilting in that way she had begun to associate with his teasing.

“It was all I had left,” she grumped, shifting the basket onto her hip.

“What’s a nurse doing with those, anyway?”

“I was on the dance team in college—wait, why are you so concerned with what I use to cover my ass?” His line of questioning and scrutinizing gaze began to fluster her.

“I wouldn’t say your ass is exactly covered.” He gave her another one of those cute head tilts. Damn him. “And what the hell is a dance team?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, Zavien,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “For me, it was a nice way to relieve stress and meet people on campus. For you, it just means that I can do the splits and shake my ass.”

The way his eyes lit up behind that mask told her he was grinning as he said, “I love how you get me.”

“You’re a pig.” Her words didn’t carry the sting she had planned; she actually thought her tone sounded affectionate. She changed the subject as they walked toward the elevators. “You got a date or something?”

“Why?” he asked, letting her step in first and then pressing the buttons for them both. “You jealous?” His voice took on a teasing tone, and he leaned down to look her in the eye.

“I just can’t picture you on a date.” She shrugged. “I just kinda figured your mating rituals were more barbaric. Luring some poor, unsuspecting woman into your lair, having your way with her, consuming her soul—you know, that sort of thing.” She grinned at him, but he didn’t look so impressed.

“Been thinking a lot about my mating rituals?”

“Ugh, forget I mentioned it.” She rolled her eyes and turned her face so he wouldn’t see her fighting back a smile.

“Maybe I’ll show you sometime,” he said, shocking the hell out of her and causing her head to snap back toward him.

The elevator dinged, and hers was the first stop, but she continued to stare up at Zavien, who chuckled and gave her a gentle shove until she stepped into the hall.

“For the record,” he said, lowering his mask to give her a rare glimpse of his smirk, “I already knew you could shake your ass. It has a mind of its own in those shorts.”

She stood frozen, staring as the doors closed, leaving her alone and gaping at nothing and no one.