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jokes for the next six months. Hermit Crab will no longer be my nickname. It'll be something like Puking Crab.
    "That's the one. I mean, I drink. Often. I don't puke, especially not from a few shots." And now I'm spewing words. I wish this night would end.
    "Yeah, unregulated liquor… Here," I'm abruptly lifted to my feet, "let's get you to bed."
    He starts to guide me but my knees are so damn unstable, I'm like a flopping puppet. We make it a few stumbling strides before my feet abruptly leave the ground.
    Trey lifts my weight effortlessly, cradling me between his massive arms. I want to protest, but my door is rapidly approaching. And well, he smells really good.
    Somehow he manages to twist the doorknob with me in his arms and push the door open. The room is mostly clean given I have a housekeeper, but my suitcase lies open on the dresser, clothing spilling out of it. I hope there isn't a random bra or pair of underwear in plain site. I now wish I'd put the clothes in the dresser where they belong. Putting them in the dresser made the assignment seem more permanent, so I left them in my suitcase.
    He doesn't cross the threshold. He does ease me to my feet, keeping a firm grasp on my shoulders as the world swirls around me.
    "Thanks for your help."
    "Of course."
    I stare at him. I mean to just glance his direction but I end up staring. "Why are you so beautiful?" The words come out of my mouth instead of staying my brain where they belong.
    He flashes his teeth. "I blame my mother."
    "She did a damn good job." I look him over. "I mean, really, it almost hurts to look at you." My brain is no longer regulating the words coming from my mouth.
    "I know. Sometimes I cry while I'm shaving." Sarcasm gives his deep voice a husky edge. 
    A giggle bursts through my lips. "You're funny."
    "And you're drunk."
    "I know," I groan. "I'm sorry."
    "Nothing to be sorry about. But a little sleep certainly wouldn't hurt you right now." He releases me and I have to grab the doorjamb to keep from falling.
    "Are you going to be okay?" he wonders, the concern back in his voice.
    "Yeah, the bed's like…" I gesture toward the bed with a flopping wrist. "…right there." I can't believe it, but I'm pretty sure I'm even drunker than I was when I left the rec room. Pakistani liquor is apparently the Gobstopper of alcohol. It goes and goes and goes and goes.
    To prove that I really am fine, I step away from the door. Marbles? Is the floor suddenly made of marbles?
    "All right." Once again Trey's hands are on my shoulders and he's guiding me toward the bed.
    "No, really. I can…" The bed is mere feet from me and I make a lunge for it. It's more of a stumble, stumble, fall, but I do land on the mattress. It's softer than the grass, but not by much.
    The moment I close my eyes the room spirals around me in a churning vortex, and then, only darkness.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    I wake up feeling like I've been chewing cotton batting all night. Or maybe my pillow. There is a damp spot on it…
    Sitting up sends shooting pains through my temples. Aspirin. I desperately need aspirin. And water. And coffee. And more water.
    After pushing the comforter aside, my legs ooze over the side of the bed. Except for my boots, I'm still fully dressed. It takes me a minute to remember where I am and then another minute not to cry about it. I scan the room with blurred vision and find the boots sitting neatly against the wall next to the dresser. No way I put them there. I barely made it to the bed.
    And there's no way I tucked myself in either. Someone else did. Shuffling to the bathroom, I try to piece together the events from the night before. There was the bootlegger, a couple games of pool, I threw up, Trey cussed out the guys for getting wasted and leaving the camp vulnerable…
    Oh shit. I got the order wrong. I threw up after Trey went off on his crew. And then he helped me back to my room.
    Pausing at the door to the bathroom, I let my head fall