I raised my eyebrow at him. "You know what ass tastes like?"
Even though he was tired and sickly, he snickered in amusement. "No, I haven't had the pleasure of tasting ass, thank you. What I should've said is that it takes like shit," he murmured, before thinking about what he'd said and snorted. "Don't even say anything. It tastes horrible and I've definitely never tasted shit," he said, taking another drink and keeping an eye on me. "Can you stay for a little bit?"
"Sure," I answered and went to sit on the end of the bed around the same time he started patting the empty spot next to him. The mattress was king-sized, so I nodded and climbed over to sit to where I was only a couple feet away from him.
In the middle of a sip, he stopped and turned to look at me sharply. "I'm going to get you sick, Kat."
"Don't worry about it, I get my flu shot every year, so if I do catch anything, it won't be too bad. My immune system blows, so I drink that gross shit," I pointed at his cup, "all the time."
He tipped the cup back to drink the last bit and shivered again, setting the cup down on the nightstand. "Gross," he muttered, licking his lips. Tristan closed his eyes and wiggled his way down the bed to lay flat against the mattress. "I don't have a TV in here so you're going to have to tell me all of your secrets to entertain me."
"In that case—," I started to say but laughed. "I don't have any secrets."
"I don't either besides Robby. Just tell me about your family... or anything, I don't care. Just talking makes me feel terrible," he groaned.
So, I told him. I told him about my dad, Frank Berger, and how he was the hardest-working electrician in Gainesville, Florida. I told him about my mom, and how she worked odd-end jobs until she died from a brain aneurysm right before her thirtieth birthday. Tristan learned about my bad haircuts, which made him laugh even though his eyes were closed. He found out about the time I went to a Marlins game with Frank and was dumb enough to wear a skirt that I ended up tucking into my underwear after a restroom break, so I practically mooned hundreds of people with my white cotton panties. He had tears in his eyes after he asked me how old I was when it happened, and I answered with a whopping sixteen. How he managed to stay awake and pay attention to me while I rambled, I don't know but he did, because he constantly laughed quietly despite the fact that his eyes were closed.
I wiggled my way off the bed and headed over to his side to take his temperature one last time. Once the reading was over, the digital numbers showed that his fever was down to 101.8. "Can you take another cold shower?" I asked him, and he nodded, rolling out of bed sluggishly before heading toward the bathroom.
Exhaustion hit me while I paced around his room, waiting for him to finish his shower. He was fast; in and out — dressed, undressed, and dressed again — in less than five minutes. He looked tired and half-asleep despite the freezing shower. Tristan dragged his feet across the floor, making moaning and grunting noises as he settled into bed. The noises were so distracting that later on I realized I didn't get a chance to ogle his abs, or the little trail of dark hair from his belly button down the front of his boxers.
"Thank you for coming, Kat," he whispered, his silhouette illuminated by the side lamp.
"Don't mention it," I said softly. My watch showed that it was passed two in the morning and more than an hour after he took the Theraflu. I let out a big yawn and rubbed at my face. "Will you be okay alone the rest of the night?"
He opened a single eye but didn't focus it on me. Instead, he settled that piercing gaze at the ceiling. "I think so," he said, but I could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Can you come back tomorrow and make sure I'm not dead?"
"Of course," I said. I'd stay if he'd asked me to but he didn't.
Tristan rolled onto his side and started digging through his nightstand drawer, moving all kinds of things over before pulling out a shiny new key and holding it out for me. "Can you lock the door for me, and this way you can let yourself back in? I think my neighbor might try to sneak in and molest me if the door is unlocked all night."
"Oh! The old guy next door?" I joked, even though I didn't see anyone outside.
He groaned and pulled the sheet up to his neck again. "Wait until I feel better," he threatened in the worst ominous voice I'd ever heard.
After a brush of my fingers over his forehead, I slipped his house key into my pocket, and gave him instructions to set an alarm so he could take the Theraflu again in a few hours. I was in my car and heading back home while trying to fight back the fatigue that overwhelmed me. It was so fucking hard to keep my eyes open, and I immediately regretted not asking him if I could sleep on the couch. I was so tired that I barely made it up the stairs before kicking and yanking off all of my clothes as I fell onto the bed in a tired heap. Tristan's house key lay discarded on my floor, inside of my jeans.
Right before I fell asleep, I remembered randomly that the last guy I'd gone on a couple of dates with wouldn't even tell me the security code for the gate to his apartment.
Chapter20
Four hours after I had passed out on my bed, I woke up hearing my phone ringing and felt utterly exhausted. I should have gone back to bed and slept at least another hour or two, but my mind was already racing between the events of the previous night and wondering who the hell was calling me so early. Frustrated and annoyed, I grabbed my phone like it was the phone's fault why it was ringing at the crack of dawn and stared at the screen to see Zoey's picture from Halloween last year. She was dressed up like a member of KISS.
"Hello?" I asked, my voice thick with sleep.
"Katherine Alba Berger, I'm so, so sorry to call you this early, but have you talked to Nicole? I'm worried," she spilled out as quickly as possible. Zoey knew that I'd never been a morning person, whether it was back when I was a student or now that I was a real adult with a full-time job, I hated the morning time.
My yawn sounded like something out ofThe Lion King. "Yesterday. She's fine; she's having a sex marathon with Calum."
I think Zoey chuckled, but I was so out of it, she could have been braying like a donkey for all I knew. "Oh, okay. Go back to sleep then."
"Okay, bye Zo." I tried to say, but yawned instead.
"Bye!" she chirped out before ending the call.
I had a headache which could only be blamed on how tired and sleepy I was, but all I could think about was the sick man I left across town. It wasn't even eight in the morning, and I was wondering if he was conscious enough to call into work to say that he was sick. There were times that I really hated how stubborn I was because once the idea that I should call in for him popped into my head, I had to do it or else it'd bother me the rest of the day. I wouldn't want him to get fired, I reasoned with myself. After doing a quick search on my browser with one eye open, I called the law office he worked at and left a voicemail explaining that Tristan King was very sick and couldn't make it in.
I shot a quick message to Tristan. There was no use in coming over if he was dead.
