In Love With My Bully
Chapter 131: I Think Women Are Misunderstood

Chapter 131: I Think Women Are Misunderstood

Guy never knew Chay was a talker.

All through the Uber ride home, Chay filled the vehicle with chaotic, slurred chatter.

"I think women are misunderstood," she declared suddenly.

"What?" His head reeling from the constant change in topic.

"And if I had a puppy, I’d name it Beyoncé. You know...puppy power."

He chuckled aloud. Then leaned his head against the Uber’s window and let the soft hum of the city blur behind Chay’s rambling. A part of him was fascinated. Another part worried she was going to have a hell of a hang over in the morning.

When they finally pulled up to her apartment, it took them a full two minutes to get out of the car because Chay insisted she had to "say goodbye to the driver."

They staggered toward the door. Guy helped her up, his arm slung around her waist, hers around his neck. It would’ve been romantic—if they hadn’t both smelled like brandy.

At the door, Chay fumbled with the keys. After stabbing at the air three times, she gave up and shoved them into his hands with a giggle. "You do it. I believe in you."

"I wish I did," Guy muttered under his breath. He squinted at the keyhole. It multiplied. Two... three... maybe five holes? He tried to aim for the middle. His body unintentionally pressed closer to hers as he attempted to gain leverage.

Chay leaned back against the door with a dreamy, intoxicated smile. Her fingers rested lightly on his chest, tapping his shirt. "You smell nice. You always do."

"I always smell like a brewery?"

She chuckled and looked up at him, a slight tilt to her smile that made his stomach flip. Everything around them stilled for one moment.

He didn’t mean to.

God knew, he didn’t plan to.

But he bent his head and kissed her.

Just briefly. Just a lock of their lips. Just enough for the universe to catch its breath.

And then he pulled away.

Chay’s hands were still on his chest.

Chay was stunned. Absolutely, completely stunned.

The kiss had short-circuited her brain. Her dazed eyes met Guy’s, and for a moment, they both stood in the hallway. Time stretched in that fuzzy alcohol-induced haze, thick with tension and unspoken thoughts. Maybe she was imagining it, but she could swear her heart skipped, did a weird samba, then bellyflopped back into rhythm.

Then her stomach decided it had had enough.

"Oh no," she mumbled, the warmth of the moment disappearing into rising nausea. She turned, bent over and began to gag.

"Shit!" Guy jolted into action, the fog of alcohol temporarily blasted away by the imminent threat of vomit. He fumbled with the key again, this time managing to get it into the lock. The door clicked open at the exact second Chay bolted past him. She made it to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet bowl, just in time to release the Kraken.

Guy was right behind her. He knelt beside her, instinct taking over, and gently gathered her wavy hair to one side, holding it.

"Well," he said dryly, eyeing her heaving form, "I guess now we know how you truly feel about kissing me."

He expected a curse, but instead, a hand shot up. Without looking, she swung at him and smacked him right on the ass with a firm thwack. The sound echoed slightly, followed by a beat of stunned silence.

"Kinky..." he muttered. He couldn’t help it—he laughed.

Chay let out a weak chuckle between the waves of nausea, coughing slightly, her cheeks flushed with exertion. "You’re annoying," she whispered.

"I’ve been told worse," he replied, grabbing a clean washcloth. He wet it and gently dabbed her forehead.

After her stomach had been thoroughly emptied and her pride just slightly bruised, he helped her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her to the sink. She rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water on her face, trying to wash off the embarrassment clinging to her.

Guy handed her a towel and then, very carefully, led her to the living room couch, which was currently occupied by three throw pillows, evenly spaced and a blanket, neatly folded.

"I cannot believe I got a tattoo," Chay muttered, her words slurred slightly as she flopped onto the couch, throwing the pillows to the ground.

"Please don’t show your father. Why in the hell would you get a dick tattooed on you?" Guy asked.

"Well, the artist wasn’t exactly clear with his instructions," Chay said with a shrug, completely unbothered. "He said, ’what do I want.’ I told him a dick."

Guy snorted. "A dick, uhn." He shook his head in disbelief. "You’ll never top that. That’s your peak."

"I’ve never been fucked, Guy," she said abruptly, and the laughter drained out of his chest. She was staring at her chipped nail polish as if the cracks in the polish mirrored the ones she kept hidden inside. "I could sit here and say it’s because I’m saving myself for someone special, but... someone specials just look through me. They don’t see me."

Guy swallowed hard, his humor dissolving. He looked at her. "Then they aren’t special," he said quietly, with sincerity.

Chay gave a sad little laugh, and then, as if flipping a switch, she leaned into mischief again. "Wanna see?"

"Uh... see what?"

"The dick."

Guy sighed. "Fine. But this does not make me gay."

Chay grinned and casually peeled off her blouse, revealing the tattoo. Guy stared.

"Good God," he whispered. I honestly want the old Chay back. The one who didn’t mess with my erection. He thought.

Chay laughed, completely unashamed, lounging back. "What? It’s elegant."

"It looks like a sad eggplant with wings," Guy muttered, leaning in for a closer inspection. "Did you girls at least get the treatment for it to heal quickly and not get infected? Or are we just raw-dogging the healing process?"

But Chay was already asleep.

Great... just fucking great. Guy stared at her for a beat, her cheek squished adorably against the arm of the couch, her lips slightly parted. One of her arms was slung across her stomach, the other dangled off the couch. The blanket she’d tossed earlier was hanging off her foot, useless.