Here We Go Again ✓

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Baby powder and relocated cars

Tyson POV

I woke up with the mother of hangovers.

How much did I drink last night?

Shit, my head hurts!

There should be some aspirin downstairs. I set up slowly in bed and looking around me, I realized I wasn’t at my house. The well-lit, clean room I was in was unfamiliar. It took me a while to remember it was Alex’s guestroom.

“I made you your bed,” Alex had announced as I got out of the bathroom last night.

“You should sleep in your bed; I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh, I am sleeping in my own bed.”

“You want us to sleep together again?”

“We don’t have to. I’m sleeping in my room and you in Kevin’s. Technically, it’s a guestroom but he’s the one who uses it most so it’s pretty much his.”

“You have a guestroom? Then why did you let me sleep in your bed last time I was here?”

“Because I didn’t want you to get blood all over my cousin’s bed,” the brunette had pointed out.

And that is how I’d ended up here.

I looked around the premises. It was smaller than Alex’s with a single bed, wardrobe, a few bookshelves that were attached to the white walls and a wooden corner table. There was a framed photograph on it. I reached out and took the old black and white picture. It was of a little girl; one with familiar big round eyes and small round mouth. Her hair was shoulder length and she had bangs.

Alex seemed to have been a cute kid.

I placed the photo back on the table and got up.

I went for the bathroom first; I needed to splash my face with some water. The noise the liquid was producing while running down to the sink’s ceramic basin sounded as if I was at the foot of the fucking Niagara Falls.

God, I hate hangovers!

“Alex,” I called when I got to the now familiar kitchen and sat on the same stool as last time. The brunette was mixing some sort of a cocktail. “How much did I drink last night?”

“Two shots of each whiskey, vodka and cider, two lagers…” I could tell she was purposefully keeping her voice down and I was more than grateful for that. “Some more vodka and almost half of bottle of tequila. Give or take.”

“I drunk all that on my own?!” I asked astonished. I didn’t think I was capable of doing that; I didn’t think anyone was capable of doing that.

“Yep. I’m not sure how you managed to keep awake. And you didn’t throw up a single time! If I had all that, I’d probably faint and drown in my own vomit. And I’m pretty good at holding my liquor.” She made a pause after giving me that lovely description. “Do you think you can have some breakfast or are you too queasy?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Here, drink this!” She gave me the cocktail she was making.

“What’s that?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. The beverage looked like puke, smelled like it too.

“It’s a little pick-me-up,” the girl explained, but I still hesitated, my gaze darting to her and the eggshells she was just throwing out before returning to the glass in my hand and the green leafy stuff floating  in it.