Page 58 of Property of Skip


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If he’s not careful, his face is going to freeze like that.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness smacks me sideways, and I nearly fall out of my chair.

“All right,” Skip says immediately. “Everyone out. Eli needs to rest before the meeting, or he’s going to go horizontal again.”

“I’m fine…” I start, but my eyes feel heavy, my body heavier.

I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out…but the exhaustion is creeping up fast.

Skip is right. If I don’t lie down, my body is going to make the choice for me.

Again

Skip doesn’t give me time to protest. One second, I’m at the table trying to keep the room from spinning, the next he scoops me up like I weigh nothing at all.

“I can walk,” I mutter, even though my body is doing its best impression of overcooked spaghetti.

“Youcan’t,” Skip corrects, tightening his grip. “And I’m not letting you pass out in front of four women and two kids. They’ll skin me alive.”

Before he can take two steps toward the hall, the “welcome committee” descends on us.

“Hold on. He needs water!” Abby says, grabbing a bottle off the counter.

“He needs electrolytes,” Sunny insists.

“He needs a blanket,” Lila adds, already draping one over my shoulders while I’m still in Skip’s arms.

Bree tugs at my foot. “Mr. Eli, do you need soup? My mommy makes good soup.”

Skip glares at all of them like they’ve personally offended him.

“Ladies,” he warns, “my man needs rest. Not a grocery list.”

Abby gasps dramatically. “YOUR man? I’m pretty sure we’ve agreed that he’s mine.”

Skip’s glare turns volcanic. “Out.”

Sunny presses a kiss to my cheek. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”

“Text us the minute he wakes up,” Lila demands.

“Or we’ll storm the house,” Abby adds.

They spill out the door in a flurry of laughter and chaos, leaving the kitchen looking like a tornado of estrogen passed through.

Skip exhales like he’s survived something traumatic.

Then looks down at me.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, all that gruffness melting. “I know they can be a lot.”

I nod, but my eyelids are heavy. The kind of heavy that makes the whole world tilt.

Without another word, he carries me back into the bedroom.

He sets me down gently and fixes the blanket around me, tucking the edges like I’m something fragile.

Which, I guess, I am.