Chapter Two
Paige spun in her tracks as she heard the creak of the door as it was pushed
open as if someone fell against it. Someone giggled then two people tripped
over the threshold. One was a woman in a tight black dress and hooker heels
she'd never seen before in her life. And the man the slut was draped all over
as they stopped to sloppily kiss was none other than Walter O'Brien.
Oh, shit, he was drunk. A feeling-no-pain horny drunk. Paige watch in fascinated
horror as the couple staggered across the concrete floor, helping each other
maneuver around various pieces of furniture, pausing every so often to grope
and slobber on each other. The pair came to a halt next to her desk, where
Walter pushed the woman against it before mashing his mouth onto hers.
Totally oblivious to the fact they had an audience, the woman slid her butt
up onto the desktop, spreading her legs, Walter immediately inserting himself
into the gap, his lips never leaving hers. One of his hands grabbed at the
slut's bottom as the other one traveled slowly up her torso to her breast.
The woman whispered something into his ear as she unbuttoned his shirt, and
he lowered his fingers toward where their crotches were grinding together.
Oh. Hell. No. Paige had seen enough. She definitely didn't need to watch
as Walter nailed some bimbo on her desk. "Walter!" she shouted. When he ignored
her, she yelled his name again.
He turned his head in her direction, his eyes unfocused and glazed. "Paige?"
He stared at her, then back at the woman still squirming against him before
looking her way again. She gasped as she got a good look at his new ‘friend'.
It was like seeing herself in a distorted mirror.
"What the hell, Walter?" Paige marched toward them, stopping a few feet
away and placing her hands on her hips. "What the hell are you doing? Who
the hell is this?" The questions came out much shriller than she intended.
The bimbo lifted her mouth from his throat, and Paige could see the red
mark she'd left behind. "Wha are you. . .you hiss wife or shometing?"
"No," she stated. "He's my boss and that's my desk you have your skanky
ass on."
The woman pushed Walter away, upsetting his balance and he stumbled into
the nearest pillar. "Who youse callin' a skank, bitsh." She fell off the desk,
tumbling toward Paige.
Walter had evidently regained enough of his senses to grab the woman around
the waist before she could launch herself at Paige. "What are you doing here?"
he asked, his words slurring as well as he struggled to hold his ‘friend',
who was wildly flailing her arms and legs and yelling incoherent threats at
Paige. "Why aren't you off screwing Tim?"
"Walter!"
"What?" he shouted over the woman's ramblings. "Itsh none of your businesh
who I fuck. Get out!" His abrupt yell caused his companion to quiet down.
"Walter," Paige whispered, tears filling her eyes. "You can't. . . You don't
mean to. . . Jesus, Walter, do you even know her name?" The thought of him
with another woman, especially some anonymous pickup from a bar, made her
heart feel like it was tearing in two.
He stared at her in confusion. "Uh. . ." Glancing down at the woman in his
arms, he seemed a little surprised she was there. "Um. . . Hey," he said,
shaking her a little, "whash your name again?"
"You bashtard," the woman screeched as she turned around and smacked Walter
across his face. "Itsh Courtney, you ash hole."
The slap seemed to snap him out of his alcohol-fueled lust. "Oh shit," he
muttered, removing his arms from her waist. She collapsed onto the floor and
started sobbing.
Paige didn't know whether to laugh or cry herself. Walter being drunk off
his ass and bringing a bimbo back to the garage had to be the last thing she
could ever imagine him doing. Glancing over at him, she noticed he had a
look of repulsion on his pale, slightly green face.
Then he clutched his stomach. "Oh, shit, I'm gonna. . ." he began before
spinning away and throwing up all over Sylvester's desk. When he was done,
he slid to the ground, resting his back against the piece of furniture he'd
just violated.
Exhaling in frustration, Paige realized she couldn't leave Walter like this.
Beside the fact the thought he still might sleep with the woman currently
blubbering on the floor made her ill, she'd heard too many stories of women
robbing unsuspecting men they'd picked up. She knew she couldn't let that
happen to him
"Walter. Walter," she said as she crouched down next to the pitiful genius.
He had his eyes closed, his head angled as though he had passed out. But he
groaned and ran his hand over his face as some of his vomit dripped from the
desktop onto his head and right shoulder.
"I-I'm s-sorry, sor-sorry," he stuttered, gazing up at her, his puppy dog
eyes filled with misery. "I. . .I. . .don't know. . ."
"We need to get you cleaned up," said Paige briskly. "And you better hope
Sylvester never finds out what you just did."
"Oh, shit." Walter tried to crane his neck to look up and was rewarded by
more of his own sick plopping on his forehead. "Oh. . ." She jumped up out
of the way as he heaved once more.
When he had finished, Paige strode over to Happy's workbench, grabbed up
a handful of rags then proceeded to wipe off the human calculator's desk.
Deciding she would disinfect it later, she used one of the cloths to clean
up Walter as best she could. He was still going to need a shower. But first
things first. . .
Eyeing the woman who was now passed out on the floor, Paige snatched up
her purse, rifling through it until she found a phone and a wallet. An ID
card declared she was Courtney Harrison, age twenty-seven, and she lived
in Glendale. A quick search of her cell revealed she had an Uber account.
Paige arranged for a car to come pick her up.
Crouching beside Courtney, Paige tapped her shoulder then shook it when
there was no response. "Wake up," she said, slapping Courtney's face a little
harder than she meant to. She didn't feel as bad as she should have since
all she received in return was a faint moan.
Paige stood up and went into the kitchen, filling a glass with water. She
tossed it in Courtney's face, and finally the woman began to stir.
"Come on," said the liaison, scooping her off the floor. "You're going home."
"Huh? Wha?" Courtney struggled to stay upright as she swiped at her sopping
wet dress. "You bitsh."
Outside a horn beeped. Paige frog marched the uncooperative woman through
the garage and out the door into the waiting vehicle. "Merry Christmas!" the
driver chirped as she drove away.
"Yeah, you too." Taking a deep breath, Paige turned around and went back
inside.
"Okay, you're next," she said to Walter who was still slumped in front of
Sylvester's workstation. "On your feet."
"Why is the room spinning?" he asked, swaying unsteadily once he was standing.
"Just keep your eyes closed." Paige led him over to the stairs.
"I'm gonna have to get that fished," Walter mumbled.
"Fished? You mean fixed?" Paige smiled as she translated his slurred words.
"Get what fixed?"
"The floor," he said. "It'sh not level." He waved his hands, exaggerating
imaginary ups and downs of the mostly flat floor. She laughed, coming to a
halt. Walter stumbled up against her. "You shmell like lavender. Paige shmellsh
like lav- lavender." He nuzzled his face on her neck. "I love her. But she
doesh'nt love me. She loves. . .shomeone elsh. . ."
"Oh, God." Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks again as his words
hit her like punches. It was the space capsule all over again, except instead
of being deprived of oxygen, this time he was intoxicated.
"Come on, let's get you upstairs," she urged, shoving her emotional turmoil
from her mind. "You probably should open your eyes."
"Okay." Paige knew at once it had been a bad idea. Walter rocked backward
then threw up a third time down the front of his shirt.
"Sorry, sorry. . ." he muttered, clutching his abdomen.
"All right, then no stairs." Pulling his right arm across her shoulders,
she wrapped her left arm around his waist, then assisted him back across the
garage to the ramp.
"I've never done thish before," he blurted out about half way up the incline.
"Done what? Picked up a floozy for a one night stand?" Paige joked, almost
100% certain he hadn't.
"No, I've never. . .had. . ." He burped loudly, which caused him to lose
his train of thought for a moment. "I, uh, never had a. . .any night stand.
. ."
Oh, God. She'd wondered. The adjoining yet separate rooms he'd booked
for himself and Linda in Tahoe led her to believe he had never slept with
the other woman. And from hints dropped by Toby and the others, he'd only
been out with two other women for more than one date. It made her sick to
her stomach to think his first time could have been a drunken fling he probably
wouldn't even have remembered the next morning.
After what seemed like hours but probably was only a few minutes, they reached
his loft. "Almost there," she said encouragingly as she helped him toward
his bedroom. Where it became obvious she was going to have to assist him further.
Evidently he'd passed the horny phrase and had entered the sleepy phrase.
"Walter," she said, shaking him gently. "Come on, you need a shower."
"Mm. . .‘kay." His agreement was not back up by action, however, as he just
stood there, wobbling back and forth with a dopey grin on his face. Oh God,
she was going to have to undress him.
"Just pretend he's Ralph," she muttered to herself.
Walter's shirt was mostly unbuttoned, so she pulled it off over his head.
His undershirt was next, exposing a surprising muscular chest. The room suddenly
became very warm as she had to keep her hands from gliding down his body.
"Just pretend he's Ralph," she scolded herself as she reached for his belt
buckle.
Finally, clad in only his boxers, she walked him to the bathroom and turned
on the shower, testing the water temperature by swiping her fingers through
the spray. Just pretend he's Ralph, she thought as she pushed him toward the
stall before tugging down his underwear. She pulled the curtain behind him,
but not before she caught a glimpse of his firm buttocks.
Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her head, concentrating on the noise
of the shower. A loud thud snapped her to attention. "Walter? Are you okay?"
When she didn't receive a reply, Paige gingerly eased back the curtain, then
threw it open. He was sitting in a heap at the bottom of the stall.
"Walter!"
"Huh?" He looked up at her with bleary eyes.
Paige glanced down at her clothes, glad she was wearing a sleeveless top.
"I should just leave you here," she grumbled, averting her eyes as she lifted
him up. "But lucky for you, I won't." Hanging on to him with one hand, she
used the other to snap open his bottle of shampoo, poured some on his head,
then scrubbed the vomit out of his hair. Figuring the rest of him was clean
enough, she rinsed him off before turning off the shower.
"Can you stand for a sec while I grab a towel?" she asked, receiving a grunt
in return which she figured was the best answer she was going to get. She
hurried over to the linen closet and grabbed two towels, quickly wrapping
one of them around Walter's waist. She used the other to dry his hair before
drifting down to his shoulders, his back, around to his chest. It wasn't until
she heard him moan she realized she had been rubbing his nipples with the
towel for several minutes.
Oh, God. "Okay," she announced decisively, tossing the towel at the
hamper. "We're off to bed now." Her face burned when she realized how that
sounded. "You're going to bed. By yourself."
"‘Kay." He fell against her and she had to put her arms around him, pressing
against his bare skin. Her body began to stir in a way it never did when Tim
hugged her, and desire pooled low in her belly. "Damn you, Walter O'Brien,"
she whispered as her eyes grew blurry once again.
She led him over to his bed, pushing him down to sit on the mattress, and
watched as he flopped backward. Guessing he'd be asleep in seconds, she pulled
up his comforter over his nearly naked body, snatching away the damp towel
at the last second.
Shutting her eyes, she breathed deeply, an act she regretted instantly as
she got a whiff of vomit mingled with the perfume the bimbo had been wearing.
She couldn't go home smelling like a cheap slut. Looking down, she noticed
her top was covered in large wet splotches and her jeans were soaked as well.
She went downstairs, found her spare set of clothes in her desk, then hustled
back to the loft. Walter had rolled over onto his side, making little snorting
sounds, she noted with a smile. Stripping down, she hopped into the shower.
When Paige was finished, she put on Walter's robe, which she found hanging
on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. It took a while to comb out her
hair, she hadn't realized it had become so ratty. Finally satisfied with the
results, she stepped out into the bedroom.
"Washing away the evidence?"
Oh, God.
Tim.