Straight Boys - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Andrew's POV
"Ugh..." My head was going to explode. I was positive it was going to detonate at any moment by the constant throbbing in my temples. The sunlight shining through my opened curtains wasn't helping, in the least bit, nor the uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach.
How did I get home?
Did I drive drunk last night?
How much did I drink?
Can I kill myself before my headache does it for me?
Why can't I remember anything after the game?
I grumbled incoherent sentences as I painfully sat up, my head hurting even more with the new height and position. Rubbing at my face to get the tired out of me, I peeped at my alarm clock to see what time it was. That's when I saw the two, reddish pills sitting happily on my night stand.
Did I put those there? If I had, then props to me for thinking of the after math of partying to forget.
Taking the small pills into my hand, I shot them into my mouth and unscrewed the water bottle to gulp down a much needed drink that wasn't alcohol. The cool-ish water soothed my stinging throat, but it did not help my stomach. My eyes widened as I scrambled to get the bathroom across the hall.
I drank that water too fast, I inwardly chastised, as I hurled into my toilet last night's intake. It was all clear liquid, and also the pain killers, but hurt like a bitch freeing itself. I definitely wanted to stab myself in the stomach, the pain most likely to soothe the hurricane brewing within me, rather than kill me. That's how much regret I had in trying to drink away my pain.
No, stop thinking like that. They're going to be fine.
Ruffling my bed head as if to ruffle the irritating thoughts out of my mind, I pushed myself up to stand. My posture may have been horrible, but at least I wasn't face deep in my own puke. Disgusting. Flushing the contents of my stomach, I gladly walked out of the bathroom, not before downing two more pills.
Although I had been through a number of hangovers, this one was the worst. I don't think I had ever drank so much liver poison in my life before. This was bad, because I felt like I had been hit by a plane. My headache was slowly easing up on me, fortunately, but my stomach was another story; I felt like I needed to throw up again, but couldn't, and unlike all the other times where I could have forcefully throated down a piece of toast, the simple thought of one had me gagging. I would not eat another bite of food for as long as I could, that's how sick I felt from one party. It was bad.
The smell of bacon and coffee from down stairs had the gears in my head cranking and turning, though. My dad should have been at the hospital with Lola and mom, but instead he was cooking breakfast? He never cooked breakfast, only my mother did. So, that little thought led me to grab an umbrella and stealthily creep down the wooden stairs. Nobody should have been home, not my dad, and definitely not any other family. And the possibility of some girl from last night being here was impossible because I had my clothes on and I never brought a girl home. Never. My flings were strictly done at parties, not my own bed. So who could it have been? I had no recollection of meeting anyone at the party that would have come home with me. Who the Hell was it?
When my legs got me close enough to the kitchen, I started to hear pans banging together and the distinct sizzle of bacon. I still didn't want to even think about food, so I had to restrain myself from throwing up again then and there.
Along with food cooking and things moving, I also heard a familiar tone of voice humming some sketchy pop song from the radio. I couldn't quite put my finger on who the humming belonged to, assuming a boy, though by how deep his voice was. Deciding who cares if I knew him, he was in my house uninvited. I had to eliminate him before he did the same to me!
With a deep breath, I jumped into the doorway of the kitchen ready to shed blood. "Ahhhhhhhh!" I battle cried, unlocking the umbrella to shield myself from whatever weapon the culprit might have thrown at me. He threw nothing, but started to wheeze with laughter so loud, I thought he sounded like a dying donkey.
"Oh, good job, Parsley. Well done. You got me. Ahhh, don't kill me." Zachary Rogers? That asshole was in my own house, laughing at me with so much sarcasm, he could have been a thirteen year old emo girl. Lowering my shield, I let my eyes glare at the six foot tall clown in front of me bent over the island with his hand holding onto the side for support. "Ahh, don't kill me, don't kill me," he kept laughing at his own joke, waving his hands in mock surrender. Rolling my eyes, I closed the umbrella and threw it on the ground. What the Hell was Zachary doing in my house?
Sneering, I asked, "How the Hell did you get into my house, Rogers?" When he was capable of answering me properly, he deadpanned. "The key in your mailbox. Really, you should hide it somewhere less... cliche." That wasn't a cliche spot! Most families hid their spare house key under a fucking doormat or in a potted plant. That wasn't cliche.
"Well, why are you in my house," and for the first time, I noticed his attire, "naked...?" His sunkissed body was bare of any particles of clothing except where it counted. His boxers were surpringly covered in red hearts. Classy. That was it, though. I could clearly see his toned body as he walked around the island to get to the toaster, and like in the changing rooms, I couldn't help but let my eyes rake over every groove and dip like I was a hungry school girl who's never seen a boy naked before.
Stop looking at him like that!
When Zachary turned his back to me, I hit myself. What was I doing? Looking at him in a way I looked at an all you can eat buffet. I never did that with another boy before. Hell, I had seen a number of bare boys from football practice all these years! I was going crazy, that's it. I was losing my mind because I was too nauseous to comprehend what was really happening around me.
I was probably deprived of human contact. I hadn't slept with a girl in weeks, maybe months, so it was only natural.
My thoughts were jumbled from the events that were happening around me.
Yep, definitely. All those factors were the reason why I was checking out the school's egomaniac. Could have fooled me, brain.
"Do you really expect me to sleep in jeans? If so, you must be crazier than I thought." I rolled my eyes.
"That didn't really answer my real question," I gave him one of my Looks, with a quirked eyebrow and narrowed eyes. He only gave me a fleeting look before he went back to paying attention to his eggs and turning the bacon off.
"Well," Zachary began, "after I graciously found you slumped over one of Rodriguez's mother's potted plants, I became a humble man and brought you home. Such a gentleman, I know. No need to thank me." That haughty smirk of his was back on his face, seemingly always glued to his lips whenever around me. Stop staring at his lips, dude!
"That still doesn't explain to me why you are in my house cooking breakfast." He was an idiot, I swear! A very conceited idiot that had a way nicer body than I did, that was for sure.
Zachary turned the stove off after finishing the eggs to turn and look at me. He had a serious look in his eyes that made me straighten my spine a bit. Why did he get all mature-like all of the a sudden? "Because I know you -"
"Uh, no you don't."
"- yes I do. I was like you too; drinking to the point of blacking out. I know how it feels because I had been forced to eat when I didn't want to. And now I'm doing the same, for a...," he suddenly grimaced, "...bro."
I almost doubled over with laughter. Zachary Rogers was calling me a bro. Ha! Hilarious. Down right hilarious. As if! We would never be friends. Me, friends with a half assed sucker like him? No way. We were way too different to even get along, let alone be friends. That would never happen. Ever.
"No. We are not friends." I shook my head, crossing my arms. He shrugged, like usual. "I never said we were friends. I just called you a bro. That's not the same thing as a friend. It's less." No it wasn't. Bro meant essentially the same thing as friend, probably more like a best friend really. I couldn't blame him for saying that, though. His mind was only half of what mine was. And that's saying something.
"Now," Zachary showed me one of his dazzling smiles, his white teeth shining under the lights glare unfairly, "Bon Appétit!" A plate of food was suddenly being slid over to me from across the counter, the China filled with eggs, bacon, and what looked to be cream cheese smothered bagels. I was going to be sick.
"I'm not eating that." I wouldn't! The sight of it put all these gruesome thoughts into my brain that had my stomach doing poor somersaults.
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yes."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"I said no."
"Well, I said yes."
"You're not my mom."
"Well then I'm your daddy." Zachary wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I paused, giving him a wide eyed scowl.
"If you eat, you'll feel better!" God, he sounded like his girlfriend. It was infuriating, the way his voice got all high pitched and he batted his eye lashes like a little girl. Taylor did the same thing when she used to talk to me in our classes last year. She only did it when she wanted me to do our work for her because let's face it, she wasn't as bright as she made everybody think she was.
Eyeing him suspiciously, I didn't believe him. How could food he made make me feel better? He might have poisoned it for my position as captain on the team! I didn't trust him, not one bit, but he seemed like he wouldn't leave until I ate a piece a bacon or lathered bagel.
Sucking my pride up, I pinched a piece of bacon in half and hesitantly stuck it my mouth. Zachary looked at me with eager eyes. He was awaiting patiently for my rating, acting like some contestant on a Food Network competition. The grease from the bacon tasted heavenly in my mouth and it sort of helped with the aching, but that didn't mean I liked it. The thought of finishing the whole plate still didn't sound right, yet.
"So?" I swollowed the crunchy piece of meat with much force, my throat seemingly disagreeing with the food going down to my stomach. My body was rejecting it, but my taste buds were having a dance party. I didn't like it. So, all I did was raise an eyebrow. "It's not half bad, Chef Dumbass," Zachary chuckled.
"Whatever, Parsley, you love it. I'm the best cook in the world and you're just jealous."
"No, I'm not. I don't cook at all, so what do I have to be jealous over?" I was no master chef, the only thing I could even remotely make food wise being ham sandwiches. Those were the only piece of art I ever cherished before devouring them whole.
"You don't have to do something that I do to be jealous of me," he gloated, a wide, Cheshire cat-like grin lightin up his face. I wanted to rub it right off with the frying pan he used to make the eggs with, the smug asshole.
I was totally going to act on my violent impulses towards Zachary, if the quiet beat to a Britney Spears song coming from the living room hadn't beat me to it. I closed my parted mouth, my eyebrows raising to the roof of my forehead. Zachary Rogers stared at me with a stoney face, but the rose coloring beginning to tint his cheeks was a dead give away. It was coming from his phone. It was his ring tone! And, to add to the Hell of a situation, it was the song he was humming before I came into the kitchen!
He was so dead! No, I was dead, having died of too much laughter!
He yelled over his shoulder "Shut up! It's a good song," as he rushed to answer his bedazzled blackberry the color of hot pink! No, it was most likely some new iPhone colored black, like the soul he harbored in his body.
Zachary stayed in the living room on the phone for a few minutes, his voice barely audible between the walls, while I kept to myself in the kitchen, far, far away from his strange ways. He was weird because out of the blue, all of the a sudden, he was being nice to me. Out of pity or "appropriate responses to situations like mine," I had no idea why. It didn't seem like he was faking it, either, because I don't even think an actor would cook breakfast for their nemesis for an ulterior motive. Not even Rogers was smart enough to think of something like that. So, to say I was a little shaky towards the guy would be an understatement. Who wouldn't be? After so many odd years of him annoying me on and sometimes off the field - rarely, actually - I would have good reason to be.
My eyes were reluctantly glued to the plate of food that was ripping my stomach to shreds without even touching it when Zachary came flying back with his pants on and his shirt stuck over his head. The sight was a once in a million chance to see him in such a state, I had to get a photo.
Too bad it was upstairs.
"Dude, you're lucky I can't take a picture of you, or else it'd be going on Instagram in less than a minute." Zachary eventually slipped into his striped shirt, with a bit of a struggle, to give me an icy glare. It had no effect, though, because of the way his brown hair stuck out in all different directions comically.
I was practically yearning to get a photo in that moment. The opportunity was so sweet, yet I just couldn't! Curse my laziness!
"Oh shut it, Parsley. You shouldn't be saying that to a guy that could have videoed you hitting on him, but didn't because of how nice and considerate he was to you when tucking you in like a little baby last night." I furrowed my eyebrows at his serious tone.
"I don't remember hitting on you, what the Hell?"
"Ha! Boy, you did. You wanted to wrap yourself between me because how warm I was, and you said if you were gay, I'd be someone you'd totally date. I'd say that was very suggestive," he said this with an eyebrow wiggle and a little chuckle. I had a hard time processing that I had even talked to him while in my utterly obliterated state, but then, like a building collapsing, the memories crashed into me.
My eyes enlarged to the size of the moon. "Don't you dare tell a soul about that! I won't hesitate to kill you!"
Zachary, like horribly always, was smirking his lips to a permanent state. "Don't worry, Andrew, I won't. So long as you eat every evidence of breakfast I made you." His smirk drastically changed to a menacing smile. That when it hit me.
Nobody knew that Zachary Roger had a certain taste for cooking! This was gold!
"Now," he spoke up again, "if I don't say anything about your little gay moment, then you don't say anything about my fine cooking. Deal?" I thought it over.
Pros: I don't get humiliated, made fun of by the guys on the team, and I can still talk to girls without them asking if I'm Bi or gay.
Cons: No one gets to know that Zachary Rogers wants to be a cook, and people would start thinking him and I were fucking.
"Call it a deal, then." He nodded his head in approval as he started making his way out. "Good boy. Now finish your plate of food because I slaved over that oven and you better eat it. I'm leaving, but I'll know if you ate it or not. All of it. It'll help your hangover, too, so win-win."
I doubted it.
But as Zachary gave me one last fleeting look, I told him I would eat it, even though, as my eyes drank up the cooling eggs, stiff bacon, and off setting bagels, my stomach immediately disagreed. I wouldn't argue with it, either, not wanting to throw up again. Therefore, with little guilt, but more so relief at having to never look at the potential puke again, I emptied my plate into the trash and set it into the dishwasher along with the pots and pans.
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Well I updated! Yay!
Boy did Andrew have a rough morning. Ah I'm such a torturing writer! Mwahahaha!
No, I'm sorry Andrew ;)
But thoughts? How did I do? Is this a believable hangover or really like "hangovers are not like that!" Idk.
And Zachary! He likes Britney Spears! Adorable! He's such a cutie when he's not being egotistical.
Please LIKE and COMMENT a million times! I would love that!
Im not gonna update for a while, also, because I need to catch up on future chapters so I can keep you guys full of my awesome writing skills! And I want to sort of speed up this book a little bit to get to the main parts!
Thank you tons and here, take this gif of Cole Sprouse eating a burger :D