“You’re right. I severely hurt that man because of how he talked to you, and it took a lot of willpower to let those bastards at Friendsgiving keep enough of their teeth to eat another meal.”
We stare, and something shifts between us.
“Thank you,” she whispers with lips that I now see as fuckable.
I’ve thought about fucking her, but to take my obsession to the level of making her suck my cock?
She looks at me longingly, and I physically feel the pull of how she wants me.
But in her state of unwellness… God, no. I can’t touch her yet.
Instead, I tuck the blanket tighter around her, then grab a cool cloth from the bathroom and lay it on her forehead. She sighs like I’ve injected her with morphine.
“Do you want toast?” I ask softly.
“You’re staying? I don’t want you to miss dinner with your family,” she mumbles.
“I don’t care about dinner.” I brush her cheek. “I already texted them and told them I wasn’t coming. They’re more worried that you’re sick than me not being there.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She sounds on the verge of tears. “No one’s ever really worried about me since my mother died.”
“That fucking changes today, love.”
I strut back into her tiny kitchen to make the toast, buttering it the way my mum did when I was sick. I even add a squeeze of honey and cut it diagonally. Fallon strikes me as the kind of person who likes it better that way.
She nibbles on half a triangle, then the other, smiling, proving my instincts were right.
I let her fall asleep in my lap, and it’s the best I’ve felt in a really long time.
Watching football, I sit there for hours, holding her while she sleeps.
My phone buzzes a dozen times, but I ignore it. I don’t want to move and disturb her. This is more important.
Fallon makes a tiny sniffling noise and burrows closer, her warm cheek pressed to my thigh. Something in my chest loosens, and something else tightens. I don’t know which is stronger or which I like more.
Hours later, when her fever finally breaks, I ease her back against the cushions with the blanket. After standing and a good stretch, I gather the used tissues into a trash bag, not caring about her snots or phlegm. I wash the mug and the plate and lower the lights.
I carry her to her bed, feeling an urge I’ve never known to crawl in there with her.
I can’t do that.
Just taking care of her feels…right.
Too right.
I stare at this strange, fragile chaos of a woman who talks to plants and got under my skin without permission.
She thinks I’m her boyfriend.
Looks like right now… I am.
Chapter 26
Fallon
Iwake up to the sound of breathing. It’s slow, steady, and calm. But it’s not mine.
Muted morning light presses weakly through my sheer alcove curtains. For a few blissful seconds, I think about last night and believe I dreamed it all. Missing Thanksgiving dinner with Rhys’s family, the fever, the world spinning, and feeling like I turned green.
