Free Brazing (Forged in Fire #2) by Rachel Higginson, Lila Felix Page B

seen all day.
    “Someone definitely put something in my drink,” I mumbled. “Just not tonight.” I stood up on shaky legs. It was only going to get worse from here on out. The actually being sick part of my treatment wasn’t supposed to hit me so soon. I’d only just gone in. Dumb, stupid, life-saving drugs that screwed with my social life.
    “You alright, T?” Carter asked from across the table.
    I shook my head and pulled on my earlobe casually- our signature sign for I-have-to-leave-now-don’t-try-to-stop-me. “I hit a wall. I need to get back to the dorm before I start making really bad decisions.” I winked at Sawyer. He looked terrified. I didn’t know if it was because clearly something was wrong with me and I was trying to play it off or if he was that disturbed by my attempt at sexy.
    “Do you need help?” Carter was already standing and gathering her purse.
    “No!” I all but screamed at her. The last thing I wanted was for my smoking hot, super healthy roommate to spend her Friday night trapped in a stuffy room the size of an outhouse tending to me and all my stupid needs. She was young and gorgeous and her white count was normal, she should definitely stay out and make the best of that. “I’ll be fine,” I promised her. “As long as I leave now.”
    “Tate, seriously-”
    I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “Carter, for real, it’s just a couple blocks. Stay. Have fun. Sing Celine! I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”
    She nodded slowly, her resignation to my wishes the sign of a true friend. “Yeah.”
    Another intense wave of nausea crashed over me and I closed my eyes to fight off the dizziness. “It was really nice to meet you, Sawyer. I’m sorry I’m such a drunk lush.”
    “It’s fine, Tate,” he rushed to assure me. I heard him stand and then his big hands cupped my biceps in an effort to steady me. “I’m really glad we got to meet though. Carter has been telling me so much about you. I’m just sorry you feel so-”
    My eyes popped open and I sprinted from the bar. I could not hear him say the word “sick” out loud or I really was going to be sick. As horrible as I felt, the motivation to throw up in my own toilet was enough to spur me on.
    I flat out refused to puke in the bushes.  
    It looked like Bridger wasn’t the only one going home early tonight. I had a late-night date with the porcelain bowl and my hot water bottle.  

Chapter Seven
     
    Bridger
     
    Something is seriously wrong with that girl. Something is seriously wrong with my brother.
    Everyone around me is bat shit crazy.
    Every damned one of them.
    I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I opted for The Pit, a pool hall close by. The place was full of pompous frat boys who thought they could play pool. They’d learned by lessons from their butler or some shit and then came to college thinking that they were the Black Widow. I was happy to take Daddy’s money off their hands and watch their bleach blonde hair deflate along with their smile and their pride.
    And their collars.
    Heavens above, who told them it was okay to wear their collars popped up?
    As I entered the place, it smelled like cake and peaches which was the opposite of how a pool hall should smell. A pool hall should smell like cigar smoke and double fermented beer and mud. That was the country boy in me.
    There was a reason the place smelled like a cake bakery.
    A group of girls to my right was smoking those vapor electronic cigarette contraptions. I remembered in the first grade when Mrs. Barr made us play the recorder for music class. I broke mine on the second day of class. That may or may not have been an accident. But if you asked anyone in my family, it wasn’t an accident and we all knew it. That’s what they looked like. Like a group of grown girls, dressed like they were going clubbing but playing smoking recorders.
    And as I scanned the room it just got worse. Scouring my face with my hands, I tried to wake up from