MARRYING THE ROCKSTAR (#3 ROCKSTAR SERIES)

♪ twenty-eight ♪

Somehow, Cameron got me up and walking—swaying or waddling, more like, but I didn't question it. I was cold, shivering, and a tad wet from the water spray. The alcohol was turning sour in my belly, so it was time to go inside.

I managed to show him which cabin was mine, and fished for the keys in my pocket, like a college-girl coming home from an overnight rager, unable to unlock her own door.

But Cameron didn't even give me a chance to try. He took the keys, unlocked the door, and ushered me inside. Immediate warmth flushed my cheeks, and I took a deep breath, smiling.

My smile faded when something rushed up from my gut, racing up my throat, and—

Next I knew, I was hunched over the toilet, bracing as my guts spilled out.

We'd miraculously made it to the bathroom before I exploded all over the rental.

"The...champagne," I said between heaving fits, as Cameron kneeled beside me, rubbing my back. As it turned out, there wasn't much to come out of me; I'd eaten next to nothing since the day before. Which explained why the alcohol got to my head so fast, and why it made me so sick.

"Yeah, you're not a fan, I remember," he said, using a hand towel to dry the sweat on my forehead. "And wine, too. You've been drinking that though, lately, haven't you?"

I wanted to nod, but the idea of nodding roused the nausea again. And the idea of wine, even worse. "Acquired luxury taste," I said, squeezing my eyes shut. "Fuck, Cameron, this is..." I hiccupped. "This is so embarrassing. You shouldn't have to see this."

He shook his head. "Nonsense. I came here because I was worried about you, and I was right to be. Now," he gestured at the toilet bowl, "are you done, or do you have more on the way?"

I winced in lieu of shaking my head, which would probably result in more vomiting. "I'm good."

Cameron stood up and pointed at the tub. "You need a bath."

"Whoa," I flared my arms, "rude, much? That's a shitty way of saying I stink."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm saying you're super cold, Emma, and you need to warm up. So I'm drawing you a bath, and you're going to get in it and relax, okay?"

"Oh, right," I said as I tipsily got to my feet, prodding my hip out, flipping my hair. "So you can sneak on in while I'm naked and fuck me—"

"Emma," his voice was stern as he gripped me by the shoulders, "much as I love the thought of you naked, that's not what I'm here for."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say." I shifted left to right, unbalanced. "But I am single now, you know. Like, you're allowed to do it. Or," I giggled sheepishly, "is me being single less appealing to you? Do you like the chase better?"

His grip on my shoulders intensified. "You need to destress, to detox. I'm not leaving this cabin until you're sober enough to think straight and stop making decisions that'll get your mouth over a toilet again. I don't want to see you like that again if I can help it. Okay?"

I gulped, winded by his words, surprised by how sincere they sounded. Even more surprised that I could perceive that in my drunken state. "Okay."

"Now, go drink some water while I get this thing running." He leaned over the tub, turning the knobs to let the steam flow out. "No detours to locate more booze; you're done for the night."

Though I snarled at his last comment, I obeyed him. And I also grabbed a change of clothes from my bag—or so, I hoped it was a change of clothes, because my vision was still pretty blurry.