Inevitable Detour (4 page)

The blond man speaks first. “Nice to meet you ladies,” he says. “We noticed you dancing out there.” His ice-blue eyes slide to the dance floor. “Nice moves, by the way,” he adds with a smirk.

Clearly, he’s referencing the kiss Haven and I shared or possibly all our grinding.

Haven laughs, and after a pause, the blond-haired man holds out his hand and says, “I’m Eric.”

“No way,” Haven exclaims, touching his outstretched hand.

Her eyes meet mine, and though we try like hell not to giggle, a few snickers do escape. I mean, come on. What’s the chance of “Eric” really being named Eric? I almost ask him if he ever gets mistaken for the actor who plays Eric Northman on the show, but the dark-haired man speaks first when he says, “What’s so funny?”

His tone is devoid of humor, so I conclude it’s probably best not to share.

Twisting in my seat till I’m facing him, I breezily reply, “Oh, nothing.”

He smiles, his deep-set eyes crinkling at the corners. His smile softens his appearance, making him seem a whole lot friendlier than a few seconds ago. Still smiling, he says, “I’m Vincent, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply.

After chatting for a few minutes, I warm up to Vincent. But maybe, like everything tonight, my soothed feelings are due to alcohol. Just as I’m thinking I should probably switch to water, a waitress comes around and Eric orders a round of shots for everyone.

“Patrón for the two of you?” He raises a blond eyebrow, directing his question to Haven.

Huh, interesting
. For Eric to know what kind of shots we were taking earlier, he must have been watching us carefully. I can understand his noticing the kissing and the grinding on the dance floor—after all, he is a man—but this is a bit much.

Has Vincent been just as observant
? I wonder. Apparently so, I conclude when he leans in close to me and asks, “Would you like a Corona Light to chase your shot?”

“Yeah, sure…” I trail off, uncertain anymore of what to think. Sure, I may be drunk, but, like at first, I have an unsettled feeling about these two men. Their ages, the way they are dressed… They just don’t fit. Why would they be hanging out in
this
college bar in
this
rural town? Clearly they are not from around here.

Emboldened by beer and tequila, I inquire, “So, since you two are quite obviously beyond college age, I sincerely doubt you attend Oakwood. Where are you from?”

Vincent glances over at Eric, like he’s waiting for some sort of guidance.

“It’s not that difficult of a question,” my drunken ass adds.

I immediately regret my words when Eric shoots me a look that leaves me ice-cold. I shudder, and not in a good way. “New York,” he replies, his tone flat.

Haven, not noticing anything is amiss, says excitedly, “Like, the city?”

Eric places his hand possessively and firmly on my friend’s black fishnet-covered knee. He gives me a smug smile and replies, “Yes, like the city.”

Haven takes no notice of his hand or the fact that his fingers are currently intertwining in the net pattern.

“My brother lives in Manhattan,” she tells Eric. “I’ll be staying at his place this summer. Maybe we could meet up sometime after I get settled in.”

Uh-oh, she’s smitten already.

“Yes, I think that could be arranged,” Eric replies as he smiles wolfishly at Haven.

I shudder again, and Vincent, taking notice, places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay, Essa?”

I wave him off. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

Eric and Vincent buy another round of shots, plus more drinks, and before long, I’m beyond hammered. When we finally stumble out of the bar—well, Haven and I stumble; our male companions appear more or less fine—Vincent asks how we plan to get home.

“You’re too drunk to drive,” he states firmly.

“Um, we only live a few blocks away,” I shoot back, slurring my words. Spinning in place, I point in what I think may be the direction of our street. “We walked from our apartment. Wherever that is,” I mumble, unfocused.

“I don’t want to walk all the way back,” Haven protests, pouting. “Maybe these nice men can drive us home.” Smiling up at the very tall Eric, she adds softly, “That’d be okay, right?”

“Absolutely,” Eric says, satisfied, like this is all going according to some plan.

What plan, though? Seducing Haven? Is the only thing on Eric’s mind the seduction of a young woman? I don’t know. But I do know there’s something about him that bugs me. Too bad I’m too inebriated to figure out why that is.

Vincent drapes his arm around my shoulder, ripping me from my wayward thoughts.

Glancing forward, I see Haven and Eric are already several feet in front of us. “Our car’s over there,” Vincent says as he guides my steps.

I’m a bit unsteady, but he helps me stay upright. “I didn’t mean to get so drunk,” I whisper.

“It’s okay,” he replies. “You’ll be fine.”

He tightens his arm around my shoulder, and I get a waft of men’s cologne…and just man. I can’t deny that I feel a little turned on. With my inhibitions lowered, I slide my hand under the back edge of Vincent’s suit jacket and grasp onto his dress shirt for more leverage.

I suppose that’s a green light for him. When we get into the backseat of their car—some supernice luxury sedan—Vincent wastes no time in pulling me onto his lap. He’s strong. I don’t resist. I do the exact opposite, in fact. I’m the right amount of drunk and lonely that I maneuver until our faces are mere inches away. This close, if I squint and create more blurriness than what I’m currently experiencing, I can pretend Vincent is Farren.

“You look a little bit like someone I know,” I say.

“And who would that be?” Vincent’s lips trail along my jaw and up to my ear. “A boyfriend?” he whispers lightly.

I wish
. “Um, no, just a guy.”
A guy I wish you were right now
.

I shake my head slightly to clear my crazy thoughts. The movement doesn’t deter Vincent. His lips continue their assault, traveling down my neck and over my collarbone.

“I don’t really
know
know the guy you kind of look like,” I continue, babbling now.

Vincent’s hands move down to my ass and then up under the back of my shirt.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I gasp, succumbing to the lusty feelings this stranger is awakening. “He’s not here.”

“No, he’s not,” Vincent says softly as his lips brush over mine. “But I am here.”

“Yes, yes, you are…”

I then proceed to make out with a man whose last name I don’t even bother to ask for. When I venture a quick glance to the front seat, I see Eric is driving. Haven is sprawled over his shoulder, her hand moving rhythmically in his lap. She’s clearly jacking him off. His eyes are half-closed, and he’s inching down the street where our place is located at a snail’s pace. Thankfully, we reach the little frame house we live in before he finishes.

Eric nudges Haven’s hand away, zips up his pants, and opens the door. But he doesn’t get out right away. He asks Haven, his voice even, “Do you rent the whole house?”

What an odd question.

Haven appears to be as confused as I am. “Um, no, we live on the second floor,” she answers,

“Anyone live on the first floor?” Eric wants to know.

“No,” Haven says. “The student who lives there during the school year moved out, like, days ago.”

This seems to satisfy Eric. “Okay,” he says, nodding. He then gets out of the car, as does Haven.

When Vincent and I stay put, Eric pokes his head back in and asks, “Coming?”

Drunk as I am, I find Eric’s question hilarious. “No, but it sure looked like you were about to on the way here,” I retort.

I’m still perched on Vincent’s lap, and I feel his chest rumble. He’s trying not to laugh. Okay, maybe this guy I’ve spent the past ten minutes sucking face with is not so bad. Maybe I should throw caution to the wind and sleep with him.

Those are my intentions, but by the time Vincent and I make it to my bedroom, everything is spinning.

“I don’t feel so good,” I mutter as I fall back onto the bed.

Vincent fumbles with the straps on my sandals and gently slips them off my feet. I try to sit up to remove my lacy top, but I fall backward. Vincent props me up and tugs the black material over my head, leaving me in just a tank and skinny jeans.

“Are we going to have sex?” I bluntly ask.

Vincent chuckles. “I don’t think so, Essa.” He looks around the room. “Do you have a bucket? You don’t look so good.”

I slur, “Yeah, there’s a bucket in the bathroom.”

Our apartment is small enough that I feel confident he’ll have no trouble finding the bathroom. It’s located right between my bedroom and Haven’s bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells me when he’s near the door.

My head is pounding, so I ask him to grab some aspirin, too. “Sure thing,” he replies.

I assume Haven is in bed with Eric. He’s probably pounding all thoughts of Professor Walsh out of her body by now. But, oddly enough, I swear I hear Vincent talking to Eric outside my bedroom door. I can’t hear what they’re saying—they’re speaking too low— but it does lead me to consider Haven may be as fucked up as me. Maybe she needs a bucket, as well.

I fade in and out of consciousness. When Vincent returns, he has to prop me up so I can swallow the pill he gives me. It tastes bitter, much more so than aspirin, but I have no chance to question why.

A minute later, I lose consciousness.

I
wake up with a blinding headache. “Oh, God,” I mumble, wincing from the pain.

I assume it is morning, but when I roll toward the alarm clock on the table next to my bed, big red LED numbers inform me it’s two in the afternoon.

“Shit.”

I try to sit up, but everything around me wavers and tilts, forcing me to lie back down.

“Ugh,” I mutter as the events of the evening rush back to me.

“Vincent?”

I glance around my room. Where is he?

Well, he’s not in here
, I conclude. I can’t imagine he stayed long after I passed out. Just to be sure, I take a quick assessment of myself and my surroundings. The bed I’m lying on top of appears to have barely been slept in. I must have hardly moved from the position I passed out in. I rise up slightly. There’s an indentation from one body only, mine. It’s a relief to know I was not violated in any way last night. Because, let’s face it, it was pretty stupid bringing home two strange men. Further indication Vincent did not touch me in any inappropriate way is that I still have the same clothes on.

And, Jesus, do they ever reek. The smell of dried sweat from dancing, as well as grinding in the car on top of Vincent, pushes my uneasy stomach a bit too far. I lean over the edge of the bed and promptly throw up in the bucket Vincent left there for me.

When my stomach settles somewhat, I flop back on the bed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m so glad Vincent isn’t here. It would be embarrassing to have him see me like this.

Then again…I suddenly realize he could very well be around. What if he had to wait for Eric?
Crap
. An image of him out in the living room, listening to me yakking and having a good laugh over how lame his seemingly “sure thing” turned out to be, fills my mind.

Then I remember the pill Vincent gave to me before everything went black. Was it really just an aspirin? The white tablet tasted different. And it sure made me sleep for a long time. The few other times I drank too much, I experienced a restless sleep, with lots of waking and tossing. Last night I was dead to the world.

Slowly, I force myself to stand. When I’m more or less upright, I waver left, then right. I’m still far from sober. Consequently, it takes me longer than usual to reach the door. When I do, I have to lean my forehead against the cool wood for a few seconds. It helps to soothe my pounding head.

“I’m never drinking again,” I vow.

Finally, I open the door and take a tentative step out into the living room. Thankfully, it’s empty. There’s no laughing Vincent, like I feared.

Our apartment consists of a modest living room, a galley kitchen you can see from the living room, a tiny bathroom, my room, and Haven’s room. Glancing around, and noting that the kitchen is empty, I think,
three rooms clear, two to go
.

On unsteady feet, I make my way over to the bathroom that is nestled between my room and Haven’s.

I swing open the door.

“Empty,” I whisper as I breathe out a sigh of relief.

It’s then that I realize I have to pee like crazy. After I relieve my bladder, I wash my face and hands, and then linger in front of the sink. The aspirin is kept in the medicine cabinet, the one right in front of me. Last time I checked, there were only four pills left in the bottle. I’m sure of this because I clearly recall telling Haven that we needed to restock.

Tentatively, I rest one hand on the edge of the sink. Using my other hand, I open the medicine cabinet.

There’s the aspirin bottle, in its usual spot. And there are four round white pills settled in the base. Four, not three.

Oh, no.

Now, I panic. Hell with queasiness and an aching head. I race out of the bathroom like the place is on fire and skid to a stop in front of Haven’s closed door. Tapping out a slew of frantic knocks, I shout, “Haven, are you awake? Is it okay if I come in?”