He gave me adrenaline, passion and thrill. I just didn't know at what cost...
When small town girl Mia Thorpe moves to London to begin a new life, the last thing she expects is to fall head over heels for the charming yet mysterious Grayson Cooper...
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I don't know how it happened—I can't even comprehend it really—but I went from laying within the softness of Grayson's duvet, watching with a smile as he brewed the kettle, to sprinting into his gleaming bathroom and filling his too-white toilet with my alcohol stained vomit.
I never want to drink again.
"Breathe Mia, breathe," Grayson tells me tenderly, kneeling at my side. His places a tendril of my hair back behind my ear. "Breathe darlin'." Holding my long, dark hair back with one hand, he uses the other to rub gentle circles on my back. If I wasn't throwing up, I'd probably enjoy the sensation a lot more.
This is so embarrassing. Why did I decide to drink last night? Why did I decide to even go out at all?
Choking on the burn as the regurgitated alcohol passes through my throat, I try my hardest to stop myself from hyperventilating uncontrollably. It's all so horrible. I've never been spiked before, and this feeling just confirms that I never want to accept a drink off anyone ever again.
"Get it all out Mia," Grayson orders. He places a full glass of water onto the pristine tiled flooring I sit upon. "You need to get it all out."
My forehead sweating, my clammy, shaking hands hug the toilet bowl. My heart seems to be running a full blown marathon but my legs are thankful that they have the floor to rest upon.
But Grayson remains calm; insanely calm given the fact I'm probably dirtying what is possibly the most immaculately clean apartment I've ever stepped foot into.
I feel terrible.
Suddenly the impact of last night has hit me like a train at full speed. What's worse, is that this is all happening in front of him. What he must think of me. In fact, he'll never want to see me again after today. I'm sure of it.
I heave again, my now empty stomach trying to evacuate any tiny remains of alcohol.
"Get it out, Mia." Grayson is still in my ear, his tender yet demanding words seeing me through this awful experience. But despite his assertiveness, I feel surprisingly safe around him; he knows exactly how to deal with this, which is a relief.
With absolutely nothing left in my stomach, I flush the chain, falling back against the bathroom cabinet and wiping my forehead of the warm dampness.
Grayson kneels in front of me, handing me the fresh glass of water. "Here. Drink."
"I'm so sorry," I groan, shamefully taking the glass from his hand, tiny droplets escaping the rim against my shaky hold.
Downing the water, I can't help but realise that this is the second time Grayson has seen me sick, and I hope to God that he doesn't think that this is my usual state after a night out.
"Hey," Grayson breathes, tucking another strand of my damp hair behind my ear, his eyes locked to mine. "You needed to get that shit out of you."
