I…
I can’t look away from the tiny, black lace thing.
“Good God Almighty,” I mutter as she nears. I watch her legs, try to sneak a peek where the fabric just barely covers her underwear and then…damn, those tits. I can see through the fabric, two tight points just waiting for me.
Then I…
Oh.
“Janelle. You’re sick.”
“What? No, I’m fine,” She says, then sniffs. Her eyes are red and glassy, her nose and cheeks are pink. She tries to reach for me but I grab her wrist, then put my other hand to her head.
“You’re on bloody fire, have you taken your temperature?”
“I don’t have a thermometer, but—”
“Get in bed! Now!”
She shakes her head, “It’s Saturday.”
“It could be my last day on earth and I wouldn’t care, you need to be resting.” She starts to protest so I just grab her and lift, walking her through the house bridal style.
“I feel like that was an exaggeration,” she grumbles, but her head is resting on my chest without a fight. “Your last day, really?”
“Okay fine, if it were my last day alive, yes, I’d beg to have my way with you. I lied.”
“Knew it,” she answers, starting to chuckle but coughing, sounding horrible.
I shake my head, getting genuinely frustrated, “Have you been in bed? Until just now?” She doesn’t answer. “Janelle.”
“I was cleaning.”
“You were…what the bloody hell? Cleaning the house?”
“Yes, I get in the zone while I’m working and I can kinda become a slob if I don’t schedule a cleaning break and then I was too tired to—”
“I don’t give a rat’s tiny rump if the house is messy. Truly, do you ever just think of yourself?” She scoffs bitterly, which I don’t understand, but I can’t get into it right now. I don’t let her reply. “Unbelievable. Bed or bath?”
“I don’t have a bathtub.”
I look to the ceiling, begging whatever Higher Power lies beyond to give me strength with this woman. I turn and walk to my room, the primary suite. I lay her on my bed. “Do not move.”
“I can—”
“I mean it!”
Her eyes go wide, then hooded when she rasps, “Bossy.”
“Don’t look at me like that. There will be no funny business tonight. I’m running you a bath and then going to the pharmacy. Honestly, woman.” I hear her make another little sad little coughing sound as I go into the bathroom. I get the water running and search through the staged decoration shit the interior designer put around my bath.
I pick up a spongy thing. Fine.
No bubbles.What the hell is a “fizzy bomb?”It will have to do.
I send Mitch a voice memo, “Order the best bath stuff ASAP to my Juniper Falls house. Bubble bath and I don’t know, loofahs, whatever.” Good luck to Mitch. I also grab a couple fresh towels and head back into my room.
Janelle is curled in on herself, looking tiny on my bed. Worse, she’s completely still. Not smirking or sighing or narrowing of those silvery eyes. My chest aches suddenly, so I quickly sweep her up into my hold.
