Read Online Crushed (Rushed #2) by Gina Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gina Robinson
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told me about her heart. She's better, then?"
A wave of nausea crashed over me. The potato chips I'd eaten rolled over in my stomach. I pushed back from the table.
Dak frowned. "Morgan? You okay? You look green."
I took a deep breath and the moment passed. I looked up at him. His face was etched with genuine concern, or at least a well-faked version of it.
"She's fine," I said, cursing myself. I wasn't even drunk and I was spilling my private biz to him. "Out of the hospital and on the mend." For now.
He pushed a glass of water my way. "Take a drink. You'll feel better."
I wasn't thirsty. Even water looked suspect, like my stomach couldn't take it. I took a sip anyway, just so I wouldn't look like a bitch. The water sat in my stomach, but at least it didn't come back up.
He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. His was too warm, too nice, too comforting. "You have a lot of shit on your plate right now." He held my gaze. "That action plan—you and me need to stick together. Or we'll both do something stupid. Like end up in jail with our college and political careers in the toilet. From now on, you and me are on the buddy system."
I shook my head. "I'm on social probation. You really want to hang with me?"
He shrugged. "Like I'm going to be so much fun! Guys who don't drink are only popular as designated drivers. I'm not even fit for that. I can't get my license back until January. Guess I'm SOL."
I laughed. "That makes two of us. January? Your birthday?"
He nodded. "The eighteenth."
"Wow. Coincidence after coincidence," I said. "Our birthdays are back to back. Mine's the seventeenth!"
"Shit, I'm hanging out with an old lady." He winked. "You get your license back in January, too?"
"Yeah, and no more chance of an MIP/MIC. I'm going to have the best twenty-first birthday run in history."
He nodded like he fully understood. His eyes danced. "Enjoy your moment of fame. The next day, I'm making twenty-first birthday history." He glanced at his watch. "Time to get back to class."
The afternoon session was mostly about making our action plan. It seemed pretty straightforward to me—avoid alcohol, parties, people who drink, enablers, and stress. Basically, drop out of college and join a monastery. Wait a minute—don't monks drink wine? Monasteries were out, too. What did that leave? Get thee to a nunnery? Well, anyway, it sucked.
We rounded up our chairs into the infamous circle we had all grown to love. Right. Larry prompted us to share. Like I wanted to after last night's fabulous sharing and airing of my relationship with Dakota. Most of the plans were suck-up plans right out of the textbook. As if the makers of them had any intention of following them. The key was not to get caught. Dakota sat next to me. His turn to share popped up before mine.
He cleared his throat, like he was about to make an important speech. Politician in training. "I've watched a lot of TV shows, like Elementary and Nashville —"
Dakota watched Nashville ? He had to be just pandering. He wasn't a country music or soap opera kind of guy.
"—where one of the main characters has to kick an addiction. They all have one thing in common. They rely on a good buddy to keep them straight. Someone they can call in the middle of the night. Someone who will jump out of bed and meet them at an all-night coffee shop and stop them from taking that drink or shooting that heroin at any cost."
Very dramatic.
He turned and smiled at me with his killer, heart-melting baby-blue eyes. Like I was about to be one of his conquests. Before I could react, he slid off his chair onto one knee and grabbed my hand as if he was about to propose. Something sinister. Even so, my heart beat way too fast.
"Morgan Peterson, will you do me the great honor of being my sobriety buddy?"
Larry nearly came out of his chair. "Mr. Bradley, stop making a mockery of this class and take your seat!"
The rest of the group sniggered as Dakota ignored
A wave of nausea crashed over me. The potato chips I'd eaten rolled over in my stomach. I pushed back from the table.
Dak frowned. "Morgan? You okay? You look green."
I took a deep breath and the moment passed. I looked up at him. His face was etched with genuine concern, or at least a well-faked version of it.
"She's fine," I said, cursing myself. I wasn't even drunk and I was spilling my private biz to him. "Out of the hospital and on the mend." For now.
He pushed a glass of water my way. "Take a drink. You'll feel better."
I wasn't thirsty. Even water looked suspect, like my stomach couldn't take it. I took a sip anyway, just so I wouldn't look like a bitch. The water sat in my stomach, but at least it didn't come back up.
He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. His was too warm, too nice, too comforting. "You have a lot of shit on your plate right now." He held my gaze. "That action plan—you and me need to stick together. Or we'll both do something stupid. Like end up in jail with our college and political careers in the toilet. From now on, you and me are on the buddy system."
I shook my head. "I'm on social probation. You really want to hang with me?"
He shrugged. "Like I'm going to be so much fun! Guys who don't drink are only popular as designated drivers. I'm not even fit for that. I can't get my license back until January. Guess I'm SOL."
I laughed. "That makes two of us. January? Your birthday?"
He nodded. "The eighteenth."
"Wow. Coincidence after coincidence," I said. "Our birthdays are back to back. Mine's the seventeenth!"
"Shit, I'm hanging out with an old lady." He winked. "You get your license back in January, too?"
"Yeah, and no more chance of an MIP/MIC. I'm going to have the best twenty-first birthday run in history."
He nodded like he fully understood. His eyes danced. "Enjoy your moment of fame. The next day, I'm making twenty-first birthday history." He glanced at his watch. "Time to get back to class."
The afternoon session was mostly about making our action plan. It seemed pretty straightforward to me—avoid alcohol, parties, people who drink, enablers, and stress. Basically, drop out of college and join a monastery. Wait a minute—don't monks drink wine? Monasteries were out, too. What did that leave? Get thee to a nunnery? Well, anyway, it sucked.
We rounded up our chairs into the infamous circle we had all grown to love. Right. Larry prompted us to share. Like I wanted to after last night's fabulous sharing and airing of my relationship with Dakota. Most of the plans were suck-up plans right out of the textbook. As if the makers of them had any intention of following them. The key was not to get caught. Dakota sat next to me. His turn to share popped up before mine.
He cleared his throat, like he was about to make an important speech. Politician in training. "I've watched a lot of TV shows, like Elementary and Nashville —"
Dakota watched Nashville ? He had to be just pandering. He wasn't a country music or soap opera kind of guy.
"—where one of the main characters has to kick an addiction. They all have one thing in common. They rely on a good buddy to keep them straight. Someone they can call in the middle of the night. Someone who will jump out of bed and meet them at an all-night coffee shop and stop them from taking that drink or shooting that heroin at any cost."
Very dramatic.
He turned and smiled at me with his killer, heart-melting baby-blue eyes. Like I was about to be one of his conquests. Before I could react, he slid off his chair onto one knee and grabbed my hand as if he was about to propose. Something sinister. Even so, my heart beat way too fast.
"Morgan Peterson, will you do me the great honor of being my sobriety buddy?"
Larry nearly came out of his chair. "Mr. Bradley, stop making a mockery of this class and take your seat!"
The rest of the group sniggered as Dakota ignored
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