I threw my arms around him and hugged him weaker than I normally would have, slightly smirking at him calling me a history nerd. I did like my historical fiction, especially since I hadn’t had time to read much while I was in school. "Thank you."
Sacha wrapped his arms around the middle of my back and squeezed me to him tightly enough to make up for my lacking strength. "You're welcome."
“You’re the nicest man I’ve ever met. I don’t care what anyone says about you.”
He chuckled lightly, rubbing my back. We pulled apart after a minute, and then he was taking off his shoes and lying on the side of the bed I hadn't contaminated yet. "So you have a virus, huh?" he asked, flopping his long arms open across the mattress.
"A big, stinking virus," I told him, sticking out my tongue. "I should be better the day after tomorrow supposedly."
He made a face while I put my present on top of my backpack. "That sucks," he replied, watching me. A slow smile crept across his cheeks. "Poor little sick baby."
Snorting pathetically, I took a sip out of the bottle of water I had on the nightstand before flopping on the bed next to him. I sprawled out on the queen-sized mattress, which didn’t say much because I wasn’t exactly a supermodel-like height. "Suck it."
"Suck what?" he laughed.
"My invisible nuts," I snickered, turning my head just a little to face him.
He was sitting up on the bed while I was laying down flat. "I forget about those things." The hand closest to me reached over to grasp my forearm. "I see this girl who's usually pretty fucking gorgeous and the last thing I expect is for her to have a pair under her clothes," he chuckled.
I soaked up his compliment for all of a split second. "Wait a second. What you mean by ‘usually?’"
"You're sick," he explained with amusement tinting his voice, ignoring my question about the nickname.
"So you're telling me I look like shit?" I finally laughed despite the sharp pain in my throat, not at all insulted by what he was implying. There was no way I didn't look the way I felt: like a big, old pile of poo.
His palm stroked my arm. "You don't exactly look your best, Princess, but you're still pretty," he offered me.
I smacked his hand off and laughed, attempting to roll away from him.
Sacha laughed louder, slipping an arm under my body and pulling me over. Part of the way onto him. "Quit fishing for compliments. You're still pretty." He crushed me to his bouncing, entertained chest. His other arm finished the circle around me, my breasts pressed against his ribs, the side of my head meeting his pec.
"All I hear is blah, blah, blah," I laughed into the soft material of his red
hoodie, ignoring the sirens going off in my head and the way my heart so suddenly pounded in my chest at his proximity. This wasn’t what friends did. This was absolutely not what friends did. But I sure as hell wasn’t moving or saying something to ruin the moment.
He squeezed me to him tighter. "You're a pain in the ass."
"Like you’re one to talk."
"Shouldn't you be sleeping or something? Isn't that what people do when they're sick?"
I nodded against him. "Yeah, but there's this annoying guy that likes to hang out in my room and keep me up every night."
"What an asshole," he hissed, shaking his head as he said it.
"I know, right?" I laughed.
Sacha tilted his head down so that his lips were so close to my forehead I could feel their heat. "Want me to leave?"
As if there was another possible answer. "No."
He didn't say anything, but I felt him start wiggling his way down the bed. "I'll wait until you start to fall asleep, then."
"Okay."
We sat there quietly with the television so low it just sounded like a whisper in the background, until, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word—"
"What are you doing?" I started laughing hoarsely.
