With a jolt, he jerked upright and looked all around, his eyes traveling instantly to the space on the other side of the bed. It was empty, but the sheets were wrinkled, and there was a slight hollow where a sleeping body had recently been.
As his groggy brain became more aware of what was going on, he realized with a flood of embarrassment that he was stark naked underneath the single sheet that covered the lower half of his body.
Oh god... so he had slept with her. Leah, the tramp. Leah, the slut. Leah, the cheat.
Leah, the babe.
The alcohol had made a good portion of the night very hazy to Nick, but never would he forget her passionate kisses, her caressing touch, the feel of her slender, firm body in his arms... a perfect fit.
He shook his head, refusing to admit that he had enjoyed the night. He was not going fall under the witch’s spell yet again. She may have worked her magic on him while alcohol had left him vulnerable, but it would not last. Now he was sober (and also very hungover, he realized, massaging his aching temples), and he was out of there. He climbed quickly out of bed to look for his clothes and had just spotted them in a heap across the room when the door swung open. He immediately ripped the sheet from the bed to cover himself, but Leah only smiled.
“Why so modest all of a sudden?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from staring at her body. She was dressed in nothing but a short robe made of thin, white satin that was tied very precariously around the middle, exposing a lot of leg and a lot of cleavage. Forcing his eyes to stay trained on her face and not drift downward to the noticeable swell of her breasts, he muttered, “I gotta get going.”
“Already?” Leah stuck out her bottom lip, pouting. “At least stay for some coffee.”
“No,” Nick said stiffly.
“Why not?” she queried, looking at him through wide, innocent eyes.
“Listen, Leah... whatever happened last night, shouldn’t have. You’ve got a boyfriend, and I... well, I...”
“You enjoyed it,” Leah interrupted with seductive smile. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t know; I was too drunk to remember it,” Nick shot back truthfully.
“Well, trust me, you did.” A smug grin spread slowly across her lips.
“Whatever. I gotta go; I have a killer headache,” he mumbled.
“You want some aspirin?” she offered, her voice tinged with sympathy.
“No, I want to go home,” answered Nick firmly. Clutching the sheet tightly to his body, he crossed the room and picked up his clothes, then brushed past Leah and ducked into the bathroom, dressing quickly. He looked like hell, he realized as he caught sight of his reflection in the vanity mirror. His skin pale, dark circles underscoring his bloodshot eyes. He turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face, then pulled his hat tightly over his bare head and left the bathroom.
He met up with Leah in the kitchen; she was pouring coffee into two mugs.
“Here,” she said, handing one to him. “Black coffee. Drink.”
“No thanks.” He set it promptly back down on the counter and walked swiftly to the door. “See you around,” he remarked flatly and was out of the apartment before Leah could get another word out. He jogged down the hall, took the stairs to the bottom level, and went outside. The bright morning sunlight burned his eyes and made his splitting headache even worse, but he braved it anyway, desperate to escape.
What the hell was I thinking? he thought, angry with himself, as he climbed into his Durango and started the engine. He was really going to have to watch himself; no more binge drinking and then going home with random skanks he met in bars. Or worse, skanks that he knew, skanks who had already screwed him over in more ways than one.
So much for his celebration. Now he felt like shit, both physically and emotionally.
Not to mention, he realized as he got home and set foot in his kitchen, he had already missed two doses of his new medications.
Good going, Nick, he scolded himself, way to start off on the right foot with this remission business.
He felt absolutely disgusted with himself. He had been to hell and back in the past few months, and now that things were finally returning to normal, he was fucking up again, getting drunk off his ass, having unprotected sex with a cheating whore of a stripper, and neglecting the medications that would keep him in remission, if he was lucky.
Sighing, he glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven, too late for his morning pills. But he had another set to take at noon, and he vowed he would remember them this time.
He walked slowly out of the kitchen and into the foyer, kicking off his shoes by the door, the only spot he could ever seem to find them in. And as he turned to go upstairs, he caught sight of the picture hanging on the wall. The beautiful ocean scene that he had just recently reframed and put back up. It looked good as new, set behind a piece of clear, flawless glass and surrounded by a handsome frame. The water in the painting seemed to be beckoning to him, and he thought maybe he’d take his boat out later that day. The fresh air would do him good, maybe help to relieve his hangover. And it would definitely help clear his mind.
But first, he needed a shower. He trudged slowly up the stairs, hoping the hot water would improve his mood, ease his headache, and cleanse more than just his body. After the shower, he would emerge refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to take on the rest of the day and do his best to correct last night’s blunders.
He was bound and determined to get his life back in order. To make himself healthy again, to move forward with his career, and to reestablish everything else that had been put on hold while he was sick.
Cancer had struck him down and left him broken. Broken, but not beyond repair. And now that he was convinced the worst was behind him, he was going to put himself back together.
***
