Theoretically Speaking

Chapter Eight

Note: In this chapter, the 'Assholeton Situation' is brought up. It refers to a small bit of dialogue I added in chapter 4. Some may have read that chapter after I added it. If you don't know what this is referring to, you can go back to Chapter 4, halfway down page 4. It's a conversation between Brooke and Aeryn, about 5 or 6 lines long.

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Chapter 8:

Someone was shaking me. Shaking my head. A high pitched screech rung in the back of my head, fading and fading, but refusing to give out. A ball bounced off my head. Again. And again. And again. And again.

My eyes shot open. I blinked a few times, then took in the dark and unfamiliar room I was in. Under the shaded window straight ahead, there was a small duffel bag spilling with clothes. Shorts. There was a camera on the chair. I sighed. It was just a dream. The screeching, the ball, all of it. I pushed my head off the pillow, and the dream suddenly returned, this time, intensified. It wasn’t a ball bouncing off my head – it was more like a hammer, pounding again and again. The room spun, and I lowered my head back on the pillow. Except this time I noticed an arm. An arm that was definitely not mine. I followed its length and took in the rest of the body: bare, muscled back, extremely messy black hair, frowning face even in his sleep, and dark stubble along his jaw. I peaked down at my own body, and was thankful for the tank and pajama bottoms I had on. How I’d gotten into them? I had absolutely no idea and wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

I slid out of the bed, and looked around the room. The closet on the other side was closed, the desk had a few gadgets on it, but there wasn’t much else going on in the room. I wondered what time it was. I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t thrown up. OH gosh, why did my head hurt so much? My throat was so dry that it almost stung. Why, just why had I drank so much? I just wanted to lie down and never wake up.

“Your clothes are in the dryer.”

I froze at the sound of Daniel’s lazy voice. It was a little gruff from sleep. I slowly turned to face him, and it all came rushing back to me: my comments on his hotness, telling him about Vince, our kiss – kisses – and my throwing up. Oh gosh, why had I kissed him? The kiss was amazing. Mind-blowing to be more specific, but Daniel wasn’t part of my plan.

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted my thoughts. I focused on him. The sheets were draped over half of his legs, tangled around his feet. Gosh, I wanted to return to the bed and lounge in there all day. Instead, I would be nursing a hangover on an air mattress.

“About the kiss?” I asked.

He chuckled. “About the throwing up.”

“Oh.” Of course. “Right.”

“I’m guessing you wanna talk about the kiss.”

I shifted my gaze from the bed to him, and winced at the pain in my head. “Actually, I don’t. I’m not interested. I know what I want, and, well…I’m just not interested.”

“Good. Me neither.”

Oh. “You’re not?” I hadn’t expected this. Well, I hadn’t really known what to expect – it wasn’t as if I had a legion of guys trying to break down my door to ask me out – or even one guy – but some interest would have been nice. “Why not?” The words had been in my head, but I wasn’t quite sure how they’d ended up out of it. My entire face grew hot. My head started throbbing even more. My teeth dug into my bottom lip, and I just wanted to die. “I meant...then why did you bring me here. Not…not why you’re not, you know…interested,” I finished the last part in a mumble. Mustering my guts, I looked Daniel squarely in the eye. And then, as my eyes locked with his, I saw it. His fear that I was interested.