Keri was smart to not brave the cold, but Jack doesn’t even respond until class is already over, claiming to be sick.
He was fine when I saw him last night, and I’m not sure I believe him. A simple cold seems to knock out even the toughest men, but I had the flu during my freshman year for three days before Macy begged me to go to the doctor. Without sitting by Jack and Keri, I was bored out of my mind in Comp II.
I know Coop has a class in the building next to ours that gets out a little later, so I catch a ride with him back to their house where I learn Jack really is sick.
“I wouldn’t go up there,” Dylan warns after I walk past him toward the stairs.
“I tried to tell her,” Coop says, and I roll my eyes.
“He was literally fine when he left my apartment twelve hours ago,” I say, ignoring them to stomp up the stairs.
Jack’s door is shut, but I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to showing up unannounced, knocking first. I cover my eyes with one hand, opening the door with the other. “Are you decent?” I ask, taking a step in as he coughs.
“Yeah,” he says, groaning, and I can hear how congested Jack is, even with only one word spoken.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” I ask, after dropping my hand, spotting Jack wrapped in blankets on the bed, but it looks like he’s still shivering.
“Fine. Just a little cold. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Jack! You have a game Friday night,” I point out, and he pulls the blankets tighter around himself.
“I’m aware. I went to practice, but Coach B sent me home claiming I looked like shit. I’m hoping it’s just a twenty-four-hour thing.”
Definitely not a twenty-four-hour bug, but if he actually takes care of himself, he might be well enough to play.
“You do look like shit.” I move closer, pressing the inside of my wrist against his forehead, and there’s no doubt he’s running a fever. Jack rolls, trying to shift away from me.
“Go away,” he protests, and I scoff, shaking my head because there’s no way I’m going to leave him lying in bed all day, miserable. I march into his bathroom, picking up the towel on the floor to toss it in his laundry hamper before running the water, letting it reach a lukewarm temperature before putting the stopper in the drain.
“Al, what are you doing?” he croaks, staggering behind me as I stand to grab his cinnamon body wash off the shelf, squirting some underneath the spout to create bubbles as the tub fills.
“Running you a bath. It’ll help you feel better, but you also need to drink fluids to stay hydrated.”
He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, and my stomach flutters. Even when he’s sick, he looks good. “I’m not lying in filthy water. I’m fine.”
“Do you want to play this weekend or not?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
Jack’s crystal eyes are heavy, laden with exhaustion, and he slumps against the doorframe. “Fine,” he mumbles, admitting defeat.
He shivers after pulling his shirt off, dropping it on the floor, and if I weren’t too busy staring at his body, I’d probably say something.Pull yourself together, I scold myself, tearing my gaze away to the still-filling tub. It’s rude to stare, especially when he’s too sick to even make a joke about it.
Jack drops his sweatpants next, his black briefs clinging to his thick thighs, leaving little to the imagination. He doesn’t need to keep them on since I’ve already seen everything, but this feels like a bad time to bring that up. Jack grimaces when he steps into the tub, slowly lowering himself in the water. It’s a tight fit, and I try not to laugh because I think if I do, he’ll get out immediately. Jack’s knees stick out of the water, and only half of his chest is submerged. Jack sighs, closing his eyes to lean against the tile. “You should go. I don’t want to get you sick.”
I grab his clothes from the floor, throwing them in the hamper as well, to take a seat on the lid of the toilet. “I have a strong immune system. I rarely get sick, even when I lived in the dorms, so I think you’re stuck with me. I’d hate for you to fall asleep in the water and drown.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you might be wishing for that to happen.”
“What? And then deprive myself of your friendship?” I ask, and Jack opens his eyes to smile, but it’s faint.
“You were pretty insistent on us not being friends in the first place,” he argues, closing them again.
“Well,yeah. You’re a hockey player, and literally the only rule I had for myself was no hockey players—even as friends. Besides, I feel like we’re on borrowed time until my dad finds out I’m not just your tutor.”
“If you’re not just my tutor, then what are you?” Jack asks, and it feels like a loaded question. I don’t know what I am anymore. I know I’m his friend, but I like kissing him too much to only be Jack’s friend. It’s comical considering how hard I fought against becoming his friend, but now I don’t want to risk ruining our friendship because I caught feelings. I wish it weren’t so damn confusing and complicated.
I wish I wasn’t afraid to let myself feel more than friendship toward him.
“I’m your friend,” I say, because there’s nothing else to say. “And he’s going to lose his shit,” I say, knowing we’re on a clock, running out of time.
