Our love couldn't go wrong

Chapter Thirty :

He isn't surprised when Courtney stirs with a groan, the next morning. He isn't shocked when she struggles to sit up, huffing and mumbling to herself as she cradled her head in her hands. It makes him chuckle, and the fumbled slap to his stomach is predictable as she whines at him, "Don't laugh, meanie."

Pursing his lips together, he holds back another chuckle as his hand reaches to rub her back lightly. She leans into the touch momentarily, before clumsily reaching for the bottle of water and aspiring he left on the bedside table for her when he first woke up, hours previous. "You gonna take it back, now that you've seen how nice I've been?" He teases, cocking his head to the side as he watches her before deciding to press further, "How much did you two drink, anyway - I thought you said it was only a few cocktails?"

"It was." She starts, twisting off the cap to the plastic and taking a sip. Two pills are then thrown back. She chases them down with half the bottle, putting the cap back on and placing both the water and aspirin on the side again. "And then it was shots."

Her voice is halfway between disappointed and angry, and he can't help but see the humour in the situation.

She sighs deeply, curling up into herself slightly before she leans into him, head resting against his stomach and legs thrown over his. "Kari was flirting with the bartender so she kept giving us another round on the house. Gonna fucking kill her...ugh, but I gotta thank her, first. As much as I hate to admit it, she was right - I needed the liquid courage."

Pausing, he waits to see if she continues. He doesn't want to press if she doesn't want to talk, but he doesn't want to avoid a conversation that's best had sooner rather than later. She shrugs against him, as if reading his mind. The hand furthest from her reaches up, fingers running through her curls and separating them, dragging out the slight tangles. It makes him wince, but if he's hurt her, she doesn't show it. His chest aches. "Do you...do you want to talk about it? A-about yesterday, I mean."

It's stupid. He feels so stupid. They can be adults and have grown up conversations - he knows this, they do it all the time and it's one of the few things he prides himself on because damn, if there's one thing he's good at, it's this. But he doesn't know what to say.

He looks at her and she's just so incredibly mesmerising...it takes the words out of his mouth and the worries out of his mind.

She's always had that effect on him.

Her head lifts up so that she can see his face, eyebrows furrowed as she finds the words to say. Or figures out what he's talking about, maybe. There was always that lingering fear that she wouldn't remember last night (or that she wouldn't want to remember. That one scares him the most), but there's a flash of guilt in her eyes and he just knows. He breathes.

"I...I wasn't exactly responsible last night, and I'm sorry I sprung that on you," She starts. He can feel the way she's trembling against him as she fixates on a bit of loose skin around her cuticles, pulling and picking in a way that reveals the pink fleshy layer underneath. That's got to sting. His hand covers hers, gentle enough not to startle her but firm enough to stop her from hurting herself, further. He does this a lot, "But I didn't say anything that wasn't true. I...I meant everything I said, Shayne."

He did, too.

She looks up at him once more, gaze softening as she takes in his face and reaction. Like she's relieved.