The Cruelest Summer

Chapter 11- The Morning After

Taylor woke up around 8:45 AM to a throbbing headache. Advil. I need Advil.

She slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Joe, and hastily made her way over to the bathroom. Her head was pounding and her inner thighs were sore beyond belief. She had undergone a lot of physical exertion in the past couple of hours.

As Taylor leaned against the bathroom sink, popping an Advil in her mouth, she tried to recollect her memories of the night before. She was incredibly hungover from all of the booze and her memory was pretty much shot.

All she remembered was having the best sex of her entire life. She could vaguely recall fragments of her conversations with Joe. She could've sworn they talked about Boniver and the National.

As her legs grew heavier, Taylor slid to the bathroom floor, trying to think back to the things that were said at the dive bar and under the covers. She faintly remembered their brief discussion of a FWB relationship.

*

It was a sudden knock on the door that pulled Taylor out of her thoughts. She had been swirling in them for almost thirty minutes.

"You can come in," she shouted.

The door swung open and Joe entered the room. His hair was sticking up in a million directions and he was wearing nothing other than a pair of navy boxers. Boxers that Taylor had ripped off just a few hours ago.

"Sorry to barge in," he said in a throaty voice. Taylor presumed that it was strained from all of the drinking and... groaning. "You were in the bathroom for a while and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh, thanks," Taylor said shyly. "I'm fine. Just hungover, that's all. Moving a little slow today."

She was deeply embarrassed that Joe had found her curled up on the bathroom tile, but elated to know that he cared about her enough to check on her. She couldn't help but think back to the night in Vegas where she had gotten food poisoning. Taylor had been retching and vomiting profusely in the hotel powder room, and instead of holding her hair back or offering some Pepto Bismol, Adam had told her to "feel better" and then proceeded to play the lobby slot machines.

"My flatmate got super drunk once and passed out in the conjoining bathroom," Joe continued. "I was worried you blacked out like her."

"I'm still alive, don't worry," Taylor said dryly. "I think I've been building up a tolerance to alcohol these past few months."

"I've noticed."

"You have?"

"You've played me in scrabble while drunk. Several times, might I add."

"Ohh. How charming of me."

"Extremely charming. You're on pace to be drinking like a true Englishman."

"Well, if by some miracle I survive this hangover, you'll have to take me to a London pub."

"I'd love to."

Taylor smiled. Had she and Joe just made plans? Was that even allowed? The boundaries of her ~relationship~ with him were still very unclear.

"So, what do you have going on today?" she breathed, hoping his response would give her some insight into where they stood. Friends? Fuck-buddies?

"I have a meeting with my CAA agent," Joe answered. He ran a hand through his messy mane of hair. "I should probably get going actually, because it's in an hour."

Taylor felt her smile falter for a moment. He was leaving. He was-

"-But umm, I would really like it if we met up again before I fly back home," Joe said hurriedly.

Taylor swallowed hard. So he wasn't leaving...at least not yet. "Yeah, let's do that," she smiled. "I had fun last night."

Joe grinned sheepishly. "I had a lot of fun," he crooned. "Probably the most ~fun~ I've had in my entire life."

Taylor blushed. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Her mattress had become a secret oasis last night. Her and Joe kept going to paradise again...and again....and again.....and again. It was fucking fantastic.

"Yeah, last night was on another level," she giggled.

Joe nodded and reached out his hand to pull Taylor up off the floor. He delicately traced her face with his hand. Taylor felt her breath hitch. God, why is it that everything he does makes me weak in the knees? He's got to have some fucking magnetic force to him.

Joe pressed his lips to her forehead. "So, I'll see you around?"

"You'll see me around," she answered, shakily.