“I can’t! I’m gonna get fired,” she moans. “Why did youdothat?”
“Because somebody has to look out for you, and you aren’t doing it. Ingrid says you can take off work, by the way.”
“Oh.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No. You can text her to confirm if you want, but you’ll probably just come off even more crazy.”
Pippa examines my face, and she must decide that I’m telling the truth, because she sighs. “Okay. But if I get fired, you’re paying my rent and living expenses for the next year.”
“I can make that much in one tournament,” I say, shrugging.
She giggles. “Tournament of champions.Jeopardy. I should watch moreJeopardy. Turn it on, please.” She picks up her hand, pressing buttons on an imaginary remote. Jesus, she’s loopy. Frankly, it’s adorable.
“Later. Now, get some rest. I’ve got some shit to do in the apartment, but if you need me, just yell and I’ll come.”
Her mouth turns down. “You’ll come back, though, right?”
I shoot her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
If she doesn’t kick me out, I’ll sleep on the other side of the bed. Hell, I’d probably sleep on the floor if she wanted me to. She could have me whipped, if she was just a little more demanding. I don’t even hate the idea of it. I’d simp for Pippa any day.
But for now, there’s work to do. If Pippa’s feeling any better tomorrow, she’ll probably want to watch TV in the living room.It’s gotten kind of messy, and the kitchen’s not looking too great, either.
I grab a roll of paper towels and get to work.
–
By the timeshe wakes up the next day, I’ve already showered, made breakfast for me and Waffle, and come back to my side of her bed to read some mystery novel Luke loaned me. I can already tell that the wife did it, but hey, mysteries are about the journey, not the destination.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asks groggily.
“About seventy-two hours.”
She smacks my arm weakly, and I know that she’s mentally back, even if she’s still physically miserable. “How long, really?”
“About twelve hours, minus the twenty minutes where you got up to puke at midnight.”
“Oh god, I forgot about that.” She closes her eyes, looking miserable.
I put my hand on her forehead, which is still blazing hot. “You’re still sick.”
“Ugh. I’ll have to call Ingrid and let her know I’m out.”
“She already knows.”
Pippa’s eyes flash open. “What do you mean, she already knows?”
“Don’t you remember our conversation with her yesterday?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.
“Oh god,” she groans. “This can’t be good.”
“It went great. She doesn’t expect you at work today,and said you shouldn’t worry about the 12 Dates deadline.”
“Why would she—you know what? I don’t want to know,” she says. She feels vaguely around her. “Where’s my purple blanket?”
“In the dryer. It needed a wash after an unfortunate puking-related incident. I’ll go get it.”
While Pippa wallows in unnecessary humiliation, I jog over to the laundry room. The blanket is toasty warm, perfect for me to wrap around her. She smiles lazily up at me, her body already dragging her back to sleep. Then, she frowns.
