Free redeeming cupid 01 - struck by eros by jenn windrow Page A

my way between the couch and the coffee table. My knees knocked into an empty bottle of tequila and sent it rolling under the couch, before they landed in the melted remains of a pint of Dulce de Leche. I stumbled into the foyer and collapsed in a heap in front of the door.
    “Open up, Noel. I can hear you snoring.”
    Grayson. Probably here to thumb his nose and chant nanny-nanny-boo-boo.
    “Go away.” The lock clicked, knob turned and the door slammed into my head. “Shit.” I grabbed my dented noggin and managed to scoot far enough away to avoid another brain damaging assault.
    Grayson strolled by and took in all my drunken glory. “Wow. You’ve never looked sexier.” And even though he sounded as angry as I felt, he knelt next to me and felt around my head to make sure my skull wasn’t damaged.
    “Don’t want you here.” I pushed his hands away and crawled back to the living room, hoping he’d go away. When I didn’t hear him leave, I yelled, “How’d you get in anyway?”
    Grayson followed me into the room holding a dirt-covered key. “Spare key buried in the flower pot at the front door. You told me about it one day at the motel.”
    Note to self: no more momentary lapses of judgment after an orgasm.
    He moved closer to where I had collapsed and bent down. “Want me to lift you on the couch?”
    I looked at the soft leather cushions, then back at the hard wood floor. I really wanted back on the couch, but the thought of Grayson’s arms around me and the lust it would lead to repulsed me. The floor sucked, but I’d rather get splinters than accept any help from the manipulative bastard.
    Grayson pulled the throw off the cushion and wrapped it around any exposed skin. He snaked one arm under my knees and the other around my back and lifted. The sudden movement caused the ice cream and tequila to mix, creating a lump of cement in my stomach that my body wanted to repel. Repel it did. All over Grayson’s black T-shirt.
    If it had been me, I would have tossed me back on the floor and left me there, but Grayson just grimaced and lowered me on to the couch. He slipped the shirt off, wadded it into a ball, and used it to wipe his pants free of vomit. “There’s nicer ways to get me naked.”
    An apology almost passed my lips, and then I remembered who I was about to apologize to and knew it wouldn’t be sincere. “Go somewhere and die.”
    “Not until I’ve checked on how you’re taking the big break-up.” He picked a chunk of slimy gunk off his bicep. “Not very well I see.”
    I flopped onto my side, which caused a tsunami of puke to roll through my insides. “Bucket,” I managed before my mouth filled.
    Grayson grabbed my favorite margarita pitcher off the coffee table and handed it to me. I immediately filled it with something a lot less pleasant than lime and tequila.
    The supposed-to-be-the-man-of-my-dreams plugged his nose and pulled out his iPhone. “Say cheese.”
    I flipped him the bird.
    He snapped the picture and held it up so I could see. “A reminder for the next time you screw up.” He admired his photography. “You’re literally green.”
    “And you’re literally an asshole.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Thanks for stopping by, but you can leave now.”
    “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you won’t drown in your own vomit. I’m not ready to see heaven yet.”
    Figured he had an ulterior motive.
    “Just prop a pillow behind my back and leave the bucket in arms reach.”
    Grayson did the opposite of leaving and placed his posterior in my club chair next to the couch. The last person I wanted to spend my post break-up evening with was the only person who wanted to be around. He played with his phone for a few moments and then Chicago’s “Hard to Say You’re Sorry” blasted from the tiny speakers. He sang the words loud and proud.
    “How long do you plan on tormenting me?” I yelled over his karaoke moment.
    “Until you’re sober enough