“Sorry if I scared you.”
“It’s alright. I think I might’ve just been asleep,” he says with a rough chuckle. His voice is croaky—he sounds sick.
“You okay? You don’t sound too good.” I walk over and place a hand on his forehead before he can pull away.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, brushing me off gently as he sniffles.
“Lucas, I think you might have a fever.”
He groans. “Don’t say that. I don’t have time to be sick. I’ve got too much to do.” He drops his head into his hands and coughs. “I took Panadol and slept in, hoping it’d help. Tyler’s already at work, covering for me. I need to go—” he glances at his watch, “—shit, now.”
“Hey. You can’t help it if you’re sick. I’m sure the boys can cover foryou while you rest.”
“Ugh, I dunno. I never take sick days. And I definitely shouldn’t right now. But my head… it’s pounding.” He puts his hand to his temples.
“Lucas, you’re burnt out. You need to rest. Seriously, you should not be at work today. If you don’t call Tyler to say you’re not coming in, then I will.”
He just stares at me blinking like he’s out of it, then lays his head back down as he coughs some more. Before he can argue, I pull my phone out and text Tyler.
Me: Lucas is seriously sick. Temp and everything.
He can’t work today. Can you cover for him?
Tyler: Thought it was weird he slept in. We’ve got it covered.
Not too much to do anyway.
Me:Perfect. Thanks! See you this arvo.
I glance back up and realise Lucas has fallen asleep at the counter again. I might as well keep going while I’m ahead because there’s no way I’m leaving him like this.
Me:Can’t make it. Lucas is sick.
Gonna stay home and look after him.
Danielle: Whipped.
Danielle: Kidding! Seriously though,
I hope he’s okay. xxx
I fill up a water bottle and walk over, gently nudging Lucas awake.He groans like a child, but lets me guide him towards his room. Gizmo trails after us like my tiny, fuzzy sidekick.
His room is enormous. I’ve seen it before briefly on the house tour, but walking into it now, with him leaning heavily against me, it hits differently. Everything smells like him.
He collapses onto his bed. I eye his outfit, realising he’s in work clothes and his steel caps are still on.
“You’re not sleeping in that. Just wait there, I’ll grab you something more comfortable.”
“Second drawer to the left,” he croaks, coughing again.
I walk to his drawers, grab some black cotton sweat shorts and a soft-looking grey tee. When I turn back, he’s already stripped off his shirt.
And wow.
I freeze. Just for a second. Because even half-dead with the flu, he looks… incredible. Lean muscles, tan skin, that little V at his hips. I mentally scold myself for staring a little bit too long. This is becoming a habit of mine when it comes to him.
“Like what you see?” he rasps, raising an eyebrow.
