Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I hadn’t adequately prepared myself for constant companionship. A flaw in my plans.
Apart from that, a drunk Beau snored like a bear. Anytime I managed to nudge him to his side, he tumbled backward, stretching out, claiming more space each time.
Another problem, Beau apparently liked to cuddle, scooping me up around him. Those heavy, stale alcohol breaths blowing down on me…really foul smelling.
Yeah, I had my own adjustment struggles to get past.
I ran my fingers through my hair out of pure frustration. I watched the alarm clock change from six fifty-nine to seven o’clock in the morning. The resulting beep was frequent and loud. Beau didn’t move a muscle. I pressed snooze for the sixth time. Now choices had to be made.
In this part of the world, they’d consider Beau to be sleeping in. I personally felt like it was the butt crack of dawn. Did I wake him? He’d committed to helping Scott’s family prepare the house and backyard for the wedding. He planned to spend the next thirty-six hours with Scott. Set up the venue, shop for clothes, bachelor party, final setup then the wedding.
They did extend me an invitation, but I declined. Beau didn’t need the added mental anxiety of explaining me to the rest of their schoolmates. Which allowed for the nap I wanted to take, and the studying I had to do to prepare for my exam.
So, do I wake him?
As if the answer was sent from above, Beau rolled into my side, pushing one leg off the bed, the other wrapped into his body like a soft body pillow. My hip bumped against the end table.
“Beau,” I said loudly. “The alarm went off.” My palm ran the length of his hair, gently trying to wake him. Nothing happened.
“Wake up, Beau,” I said more firmly, with a pat of my hand on his cheek. He didn’t move.
“Beau!” I hollered, and used force with my hand, knocking his head away from my hip. His eyes squinted a crack, only for him to roll over again. Me and my textbook were knocked to the floor. He stretched out across the mattress as I was picking myself up.
“Get up, Beau!”
His eyes opened slightly wider than before. The confusion was real. “Why?” he croaked and moved his tongue around his mouth, searching for saliva. “Are you on the floor? Why does my mouth taste so bad?” He flipped away from me, landing face down on a pillow.
“I believe you when you say you weren’t a drinker.” I reached for the book, examining how it fared from the drop.
“I feel so bad. They were talkin’ about swine flu yesterday…” he groaned.
“It’s not swine flu. It’s a hangover, and you have one,” I explained patiently.
Since pajamas were a requirement in this house, I’d been in and out of the room all night, concocting the perfect hangover elixir. Well, Google and I together perfected the drink. My masterpiece sat chilling in the refrigerator, the direction I was currently heading.
My brainchild consisted of three parts blue Powerade for hydration, two raw eggs to soothe his stomach and help with a headache, ground ibuprofen for general body aches, and a decent size spoonful of instant coffee. I added a good portion of honey because I learned it fixed everything. Those last two ingredients were reported to help boost energy.
If all went well with my test case—namely Beau this morning—I planned to mass produce the drink to help make the world a better place.
Maybe I’d use dried ingredients to make the drink easier to tote around.
“Good morning,” Beau’s mom said, standing in front of the Keurig. “My son can snore. I had no idea.”
“I think his body mass gets bigger after he drinks. He took up the entire bed,” I said, reaching in for my magic potion. “I whipped up a special drink last night to help him out.” I winked mischievously, keeping my potion’s ingredients hush-hush for proprietary reasons.
I shook the closed bottle to help redistribute the eggs.
“I’m leaving soon. Are you going to be here today?”
“I am, I guess, but it’s hard to know.” After the countless mini disagreements Beau and I had on pretty much everything, she and I both knew if Beau wanted my help today, he’d get it.
I kept the bottle shaking as I entered the bedroom. Beau’s eyes were open, even if he had only turned to his back. “I really think I’ve picked up a bug or something. If my dad felt this way every mornin’, he’d have never continued drinkin’. Fuck, I feel bad.”
“Here, drink this,” I said, coming to the edge of the bed, giving a reassuring nod that hopefully expressed the benefit of what I held in my hands. Beau managed to lift his body, looking skeptically at the Powerade bottle.
“My stomach hurts,” he said and slowly rose, pushing his back against the headboard. “I don’t know if I should go today. I think I picked up somethin’. Probably at Lowes.”