Mitchell's Power Play

Hangover

MITCHELL

"Damn," Jackson groaned loudly when he entered the kitchen shortly before lunchtime on Saturday. His hair was messy from sleep and he was only dressed in a pair of workout shorts.

"Headache?" I asked, trying to hold back a smirk, knowing he probably did have one. He had drunk enough after all.

We'd ended up going pretty hard at the restaurant. I'd been smart enough to add a couple of glasses of water to my drinking, in between the sangrias and the beer that is. The young waitress and her friend were more than happy to bring us whatever we wanted, especially me. I just had to look up and she was by my side.

Jackson on the other hand had not been as careful with his drinking. He just kept downing the martinis while shamelessly flirting with Sammy. He tried hard to work the whole James Bond thing Sammy had come up with, to the point where it became immature and silly, instead of just a funny joke. He also tried to get her to agree to be his Bond girl, which she didn't to my relief.

"Yeah, shit." Jackson rubbed his hands over his bloodshot eyes and up into his dark hair. "How much did we drink?"

I chuckled. "A lot."

Jackson stumbled forward and reached for a cup in the cabinet. "Then how come you're not hurting?" He asked with a scowl.

"I was when I got up a few hours ago" I offered. I had been hurting but by the look on how Jackson was moving, it was nothing compared to how he was feeling now.

Jackson just groaned and shuffled over towards the coffee pot. "Thank god," he sighed when he found that there was coffee left in the pot.

I couldn't help but laugh. Jackson was really suffering and I kind of felt bad for him now, but I had been pissed off at him last night, even if I didn't say anything about it. He'd been trying to monopolize Sammy, even going as far as interrupting the conversation I was having with her outside the restaurant when we were waiting for the car to take us back home. We hadn't been talking about anything important. That wasn't it, it was just that Jackson kept trying to keep her attention to himself all night.

When we were leaving Sammy ended up next to me but that was somehow not okay for Jackson. He had to talk to her then too. Bryce had even noticed and given me his typical questioning crooked eyebrow expression.

Whatever. I guess it was stupid to get wound up about that.

I grabbed my large, red hydro flask that was full of cold water out of the fridge and put it on the counter. "I'm heading to the gym," I told Jackson. "Are you gonna be around later?"

"Yeah. I'm not going anywhere but back to bed."

"Alright." I bit my lip to try to hold back the grin that threatened to split my face open. It felt like it was a bit of karma biting Jackson's ass for how he acted last night. "Are you eating home then?" I asked.

Jackson nodded and lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

"Lemon chicken okay?"

"The one with the garlic?" He asked, suddenly sounding a little perkier.

"Yes."

"I like that one."

I did too. It was one of the first dishes I'd learned how to make after I moved to New York. For the first time in my life, I lived all on my own, and it had been a bigger change to move out of the place I had shared with Nash to my own apartment in Manhattan, than it had been moving out of my childhood home into a dorm with Nash. We never really had home-cooked meals growing up, and neither Nash nor I knew how to cook in college, thankfully we had the cafeteria.