“Don’t rip it out.”
I blinked slowly as Walker walked into my room. God, he was fine as fuck. I liked him better when he was all scruffy, but this Abercrombie look Ozzie had him in wasn’t hurting my feelings.
“What the fuck is all of this?” I asked, gesturing to myself and grimacing when the IV shifted.
Walker unsnagged the line from a drawer pull on the bedside table, then leaned in close to examine where the IV entered the back of my hand. “You were dehydrated and not getting any nutrition,” he said, toothpaste on his breath.
“How long have I been out?” I asked, vaguely remembering trips to the bathroom. I may have fought them on the catheter, come to think of it. “Where’s Oz?”
Asking about Oz reminded me that he and Walker were officially a thing, and I was supposed to be happy for them. Thankfully, I was too dead inside to muster much emotion, good or bad.
“Better part of three days,” he said, crossing his arms. “Ozzie had to go take care of something at the restaurant. He’ll be back soon.”
I fucking hated Walker seeing me like this. “Who set this up? Did Paul…?”
“Paul? He that useless manager who let you drive yourself into the ground?”
I fussed with the tape holding the IV in place.
“Don’t,” Walker repeated, knocking my hand away and smoothing down the tape. He had the kind of veins that were visible from the back of his hand all the way up his muscledarms. He was even more built now than he’d been in high school, and I used to jack off to his veins at least once a day.
Which, now that I said it in my head, sounded kinda fucked up.
“We ain’t heard from Paul,” Walker said. “And he’ll stay the hell away if he knows what’s good for him. Sawyer hired a concierge doctor to monitor you. She said the feeding tube was a precaution and you’d be able to get it taken out as soon as you felt comfortable eating by mouth.”
I wasn’t surprised Paul had abandoned me, but of fucking course Sawyer would overreact. A concierge doctor? For fuck’s sake. I just needed some sleep.
“Eating by mouth? Why are doctors always so weird? How the fuck else am I supposed to eat?” I groused, agitation working my last nerve as the meddlesome harpy himself strolled into the now overcrowded room.
“I suggested a suppository”—Sawyer pushed past Walker to check my lines—“but Dr. Ahmed said she’d stick with the tube.”
It was damned annoying that I was in bed looking like trash while Sawyer, as always, looked like aGQmodel. He had perfectly styled dark hair, startlingly blue eyes, and a freshly shaved face. Adding insult to injury, he was wearing an expensive button-down with the sleeves rolled up and, I was assuming, equally expensive slacks. Savile Row, I’d bet my guitar on it.
To be fair, he looked like a worriedGQmodel. But still.
“What, no tie?” I cracked, my throat dry as toast as he laid the backs of his fingers on my forehead. I batted his hand away, tugging the damned IV again. “Ouch. Stop that. You’ve alreadyhired a ridiculously expensive doctor who’s hooked me up to all of these goddamned tubes. No need to further Florence Nightingale me.”
Ignoring me, he brushed his fingers through my hair. “How are you feeling?” he asked in that officious way of his.
“I’m fine, though I might have reconsidered coming home if I’d known you were going to mother me to death. Aren’t you some genius network security something or other? Can’t you go be important somewhere else?”
He held up his phone. “I’ve been working remotely. I can be important from your bedside.”
Walker snorted, his eyes ping-ponging between me and Sawyer. “Wish I could stay and watch you two argue, but I’ve got to pick up some supplies for Lupe.”
“Mind taking a couple of boxes of clothes with you?” Sawyer asked, adjusting a—was that a fucking cufflink? Cheese and fucking rice, dude. “They’re in the trunk of my car.”
“Sure, man,” Walker replied affably.
“Take me with you,” I begged, using the sultry look that usually got me pretty much whatever I wanted.
“Oh, hell no. You are not up to going out. Plus, Sawyer here’s the only one who’s been able to get you to act right.”
My mouth dropped open. “You just said I’ve been asleep for the better part of three days. How have I not been acting right?”
Sawyer pursed his lips as he fished his keys from his inner coat pocket. His eyes sparkled with amusement, which I found rather rude.
Walker shook his head, accepting Sawyer’s keys. “Your brief forays into consciousness included, but were not limited to: trying to take out your IV, refusing to eat, fighting the doctor when she tried to take your vitals, making your mom cry, hitting on your doctor, making yourdadcry, hitting on me?—”
