Chapter 6

“I’m never drinking again.”

According to the internet, the best way to avoid a hangover is by consuming a large amount of water, coffee, and painkillers before heading to bed. One website even went as far as downing a whole burrito with extra jalapenos.

My stomach flips into a nauseating circle at the thought of eating a burrito.

The last time I drank myself into a stupor would have been in college. Even then, I don’t recall the aftermath anywhere near as bad as this.

Lying in bed, the aching in my skull ebbs and flows like a cold tide. No matter how I position myself, it doesn’t go away. Ripping off the sheets, I stumble out of bed and into the bathroom. The pit of my stomach swirls, and without any further warning, I drop to the floor, clutching onto the side of the toilet bowl as last night projectiles out.

I reach for the flush, leaning back onto the cold tiled wall. I feel only slightly better, enough so I can rinse out my mouth with mouthwash then climb back into bed. Once there, this stupid hangover consumes me again. It’s as if the blackest of clouds are hovering over my head with no intention of clearing anytime soon. I’m living in regret, swearing never to touch a morsel of alcohol ever again. What was I even thinking? I’m too old for this. Last night was college behavior. There is nothing wild about lying in bed with a throbbing headache and upset stomach.

It’s around midmorning when I actually drag myself out of bed. Despite another hour’s sleep, my head still feels like an ax was planted in it. Even my normally soft pillow feels like I’m sleeping on a pile of bricks.

My eyesight struggles to cope with the daylight, and I fumble while tying the belt on my robe.

Nothing seems to compute.

I am dying.

Stupid Redheaded Sluts.

The balls of my feet ache with every step to the kitchen.

Never, ever wearing those heels again.

Blisters forming from the new leather and my desire to dance the night away removed all my senses and obviously my pain threshold.

Inside the small kitchen, I turn the Keurig on and wait to drink the strongest coffee known to man. The choice of décor inside the kitchen is rather dated—yellow cupboards and one of those refrigerators dating back to the seventies. The dishtowels hanging from the oven handle have images of boats. I hadn’t realized until now that the fabric matches the tablecloth sitting on the round dining table in the middle of the room.

My coffee is ready, and knowing I should also stomach some food, I settle for a piece of toast with a thin layer of butter plus two Advil tablets.

“Hey there, neighbor.” Lana’s voice travels through the back door.

I move slowly, opening the screen door to let her in. For a Sunday morning, she looks nicely dressed in an ivory halter top and cargo skirt. Her hair is placed into a side braid away from her face. She lays her eyes on me and breaks out in laughter, the noise causing my head to throb once again, so I wince.

“Big night?”

I nod—it’s all I can muster.

“Okay, really big if vocal cords are tapped out.”

I hadn’t noticed the silver canister she’s carrying and places on the table in front of me. “Here, drink this. According to Sebastian, it’s the best hangover cure.”

I’m afraid to ask. “What is it?”

“Smoothie...”

“Just a smoothie?”

“With ah… raw egg.” She coughs, trying to disguise the ‘raw egg’ part.

My stomach does that thing again—a vicious swirl of sensations causing an internal struggle to keep things down. I swallow the giant lump inside my throat. I’ve done enough vomiting in the last twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.

“I thought the same thing.” Lana screws up her face sliding it directly underneath my mouth. “But he insisted.”

“Um… the gesture is great. Thank you, but?—”

“No buts, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

I wish this headache away.

Nope, didn’t work.

So, for the sake of Sebastian and Lana’s relationship, I give it a try. Either it’ll cure the raging hangover, or I will vomit trying.

Opening the canister, I block my senses to not smell the contents and drink as much as I can in one go. Surprisingly, my immediate reaction doesn’t involve me bending over the kitchen sink.

“So, tell me. Last night was?—”

“I don’t remember,” I lie, avoiding the humiliation of my actions.

Lana scans the room in a frenzy. “Oh shit, is he here?”

“Is who here?”

“The guy you brought back home?”

“I did no such thing,” I’m quick to respond defensively. “Besides, no one would want me the way I was acting last night. Have you ever made that big of a fool out of yourself that you wish you could climb into a hole and die?”

“Ah… yes. Hasn’t everyone?”

“Not until last night…” I trail off.

“Well, you wanted to experience life outside the control of your family, and it looks to me like you’ve done a fantastic job.” Lana pats my shoulder as if I should be rejoicing in my foolish behavior. “You think you’re up for a late lunch? Sebastian is firing up the grill or the barbie as he calls it. You can’t take the Aussie out of that boy.”

My memory comes crashing back like a tidal wave.

Oh God,shrimp on the barbie.

Aussie accent.

I bury my face in my hands, grateful my pathetic drunk self was only experienced by strangers I will never have to see again.

“Sure, I was planning a night of wallowing in self-pity, but Sebastian is a great cook. I’ll be there.”

The aroma curling up from the grill makes me practically drool. As it happens, Sebastian is smoking up some beef ribs. I’m somewhat excited to try the ribs, given it was something my mother would refuse our chefs to serve at home. She referred to it as a ‘poor man’s’ meal. I don’t care, the aroma is mouth-watering, and my appetite has fired up since Sebastian’s questionable smoothie.

I enter through the side fence, carrying a fruit basket platter from our local grocer.

Lana waves when she sees me. Ace is resting on her hip, running his toy car up and down her arm. He looks like he’s grown since I last saw him. He’s the spitting image of Sebastian but with Lana’s smile.

“Hey, Gabbie,” Sebastian shouts from behind the grill. “How’s the hangover?”

“Much better.” I smile, though cringing at his choice of name for me. “Your secret concoction did wonders.”

“Well, I am a pro. Made double the batch this morning.”

“Oh really? You had a big night too?”

“Nah, not me. My mate, Olly, did, though.”

Staring in confusion, I had no clue who he’s talking about until he walks through the back door carrying a bowl of salad. Dressed in black shorts and a white Nike sports tank top, our eyes carelessly meet. My mouth falls open, shocked, at the same time his head jerks back, muscles rigid, causing him to freeze on the spot.

It’s the guy from last night. How the hell did I not know he was staying next door? Of all the things Lana tells me, this should have been number one!

Those green eyes are judging me.

The same as they had done when I was making a fool out of myself outside the Irish pub.

“Here he is… man of the night.” Sebastian points his spatula toward him. “Gabbie, meet Olly. Olly is staying with us.”

Olly… is that really his name?It never even occurred to me last night to ask such a question. From the moment he spoke, the arrogant bastard irritated me. He was so condescending and opinionated regarding American girls.

Sebastian is staring at us with confusion, eyes darting back and forth, possibly waiting for a friendly handshake of some sort.

Should I get up and shake his hand, which would be the customary thing to do when introduced to someone?

He watched you vomit over the side rail.

Surely, we’re beyond shaking hands.

My mind begins reliving last night’s events, causing my words to become caught in my throat. I catch him staring at me in bewilderment. I feel the heat rising to my cheeks, praying it isn’t noticeable. Sporting a counterfeit smile, I beg the awkwardness that bathed last night would be transient.

He reaches out his hand, introducing himself, “Oliver Madden.”

Balancing the fruit basket, I reluctantly shake his hand. “Gabriella Carmichael.”

“Nice to meet you… Gabs.”

Sebastian snickers in the background at the same time Lana shakes her head in disapproval. I take a seat at the table, wishing a tornado would sweep through and deposit me elsewhere at this precise moment. Since it’s California, an earthquake would be more probable.

“Apparently, Aussies feel compelled to abbreviate people’s names to something that ends with an ‘S,’ ” Lana informs me.

“I prefer to be called Gabriella.”

A smirk spreads across his chiseled face. “We don’t always get what we want, sweetheart.”

Right there.

Yep! One hundred percent asshole from last night.

I wasn’t imagining things.

He isn’t some knight in shining armor saving me from everything unholy.

Lana breaks the tension by placing Ace in the highchair beside us, asking me to watch him while she heads back inside. I welcome the distraction, placing a cracker on the tray table and immersing in a conversation about his toy car.

Sebastian is busy chatting to his sister, Lizzie, who arrived earlier. Even Bubbles is preoccupied with a carrot which obviously looks too good to pass up.

Oliver takes it upon himself to sit across from me, his eyes falling upon me with an expressionless stare. I sense his judgment, his laughter inside his head ridiculing my behavior.

“You’re quiet. Not at all like the opinionated girl I met last night.”

“Yeah,” I say casually, trying not to appear agitated. “I see you’re still the same jerk from last night.”

“Quite the chip on your shoulder. Is it heavy?”

“Look, I was just out to have fun. What you saw… that’s not me. It was just?—”

“You being fine?”

If it weren’t for the cocky smirk plastered all over his face, I would have dismissed the way he mocked the word fine.

“Yes. I am fine.”

My phone buzzes on the table. Perfect timing. Thank you, universe. The name Prince Charming appears on the screen only to stop seconds later. Now would not be the time to pick up that call. I retract—the universe is against me.

“So, you’re spoken for by…” He lowers his eyes to read my phone before I snatch it away. “Prince Charming?”

“Yes. No. It’s complicated. Why are you even snooping?”

“It’s hardly snooping if it’s in my view. You didn’t try to hide it the moment it buzzed. It’s almost as if you wanted me to see it,” he comments, continuing his annoying gaze on me. “Aren’t you going to call him back?”

Thankfully, Lana returns, stopping our conversation in its tracks.

I offer to help once again, but she demands I sit and relax.

Sebastian serves, and with all the food placed on the table, we quietly eat until Sebastian cracks some joke. “So, Olly’s new here, and you’re new here. Maybe you guys should hook up and check out the local sites.”

“Sebastian,” Lana scolds. “You can’t ask them to hook up.”

“Sorry, I meant catch up.”

I quickly intervene, “I’m kind of busy these days.”

Oliver raises his brow, placing his fork down. “What exactly do you do?”

If it weren’t for everyone at the table waiting for my response, I would have told him to stick his nose into someone else’s business.

“This. That. Stuff,” I mumble, swirling the food around my plate. I crave anything to drink that will make this go away. Surely, that wouldn’t scream alcoholic if I drank two days in a row.

Oliver widens his eyes, pursing his lips before muttering beneath his breath, “Sounds interesting.”

“Did you know Olly is an ex-soccer player like Sebastian?” Lana quickly interjects.

That explains his well-maintained physique. The way his arms flexed when he held me over the railing. He’s extremely tall, almost a giant compared to me when I had no shoes on.

Oh, that’s right, how very crass of you to walk home barefoot.

“Nice.” I nod, unsure of where to go from here. “Ex-player?”

“That’s the way the world turns,” Oliver deadpans.

Judging by the way he’s also swirling the food on his plate, I assume it’s a sore subject.

“So, there’s a surf comp a few beaches down next Saturday. An annual event hosted by a local radio station. I took Lana last year, and she loved it. You guys should come. We’ve got room in the car,” Sebastian suggests, eyeing Lana for her encouragement.

“Muscled blokes on surfboards, why wouldn’t she enjoy it?” Oliver snickers.

“Oi, you’re talkin’ about my missus.”

“Oh, sweet of you, babe, but Olly has a point.” Lana turns to face my way. “Sebastian is right. We have room in the car for both of you.”

Sebastian puts his beer down, his fork pitched upright. “So now you want to double date after you’ve just admitted you’re perving on the surfers?”

I had no clue what perving means, but I assume it’s some sort of Aussie slang for checking out the opposite sex. Good luck, Lana. Sebastian doesn’t look like he will back down.

Lana draws her eyebrows together. “It’s not a double date. It’s a group outing. How about you, Lizzie?”

“I’d love to, but I have something on. I’m sure you’ll all have fun, though.”

Dammit! If Lizzie had come, our numbers wouldn’t feel like a double date. Why did Sebastian have to go and put that notion in my head?

Group outing.Repeat, Group outing.

“Let’s lock it in.” Sebastian smiles proudly. “The four of us.”

Lana clears her throat, nudging sideways at Ace.

“Sorry, five of us.”

Bubbles hops on over to Sebastian but I swear on my life he is giving him dirty eyes.

Sebastian groans. “No way, buddy. You’ll have the house to yourself to do whatever secret business you do when we’re gone.”

With a stand-off that feels like it’s lasting minutes, Bubbles eventually hops away.

Great—Bubbles was going to be my saving grace. With him hanging there, I’d be occupied. I mean, a rabbit at the beach isn’t that weird.

Now, I’m going to be there with Oliver Madden.

His name already annoys me. So arrogant, cocky, and worst of all, incredibly hot.

All the things I need to stay away from.