The smell of the chicken noodle soup filled the air, though I doubted Taylor could even smell it.
Taylor groaned. “How’s this supposed to work? Me and you being a thing.”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I have some ideas. Maybe we can talk about them after you rest.”
Taylor’s eyes fluttered closed, and he pulled his banket up to his chin. “This has to be a dream. When I wake up, this is going to be hilarious.”
I smiled. “Get some rest, Taylor. I’ll be here when you get up.”
“Mhmm, thanks, Griff.”
Chapter 9
Taylor
It took two days for me to get back to feeling normal, which meant I was out of work for two and way behind on all of my writing. Thankfully, Griff was there the entire time. Or maybe not thankfully? Each day he spent listening to me blow my nose and clear out mucus from my throat killed any sex appeal I’d ever had. Yet somehow, the man still looked at me like I was something. Like I was his.
When I woke up after drifting off to sleep the first day he was there, I thought maybe it had all been a dream—but there hewas, with a fresh bottle of water, hand sanitizer, more tissues, and cough drops. He even ordered me a new heated blanket when I mentioned that the one I had was too thin. He kept the house stocked with cough drops and even made me honey and lemon tea.
“Do you mind if I work from here and hang out?” he’d asked. He was already settled on the chair with his laptop out and a cup of tea next to him.
“No, not at all,” I said. “It’s not as fancy as your place.” Thankfully, since I hardly spent any time here anymore, since I was always at Griff’s place, it was clean. Minus the wastebasket full of tissues that was next to me. The fridge was empty since I rarely ate here anymore. Once I got sick, I had zero appetite.
He shrugged. “You’re here. That makes it perfect.”
It had to be a dream. This sort of thing didn’t happen to people like me. I mean, it happened to the people in the books that I read, and some of the books that I wrote, but those weren’t reality. Men like Griff, with the bulking six-foot-seven frame, did not swoop in to care for nerdy twinks.
When I woke up on that second day, Griff was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. As I opened my eyes and stretched on the sofa, I thought maybe I was alone. Then I heard the gurgling of the coffee percolating.
“You look a lot better,” he said as I padded into the kitchen barefoot.
I had gotten rid of the robe. That thing needed to be washed, along with all of the blankets that I had used for the past two days, and the thin pair of sweats I was wearing. They were my comfortable clothes, not meant for anyone to see. The whole apartment really needed to be disinfected, and I needed a hot shower.
“What are you going to do if you get sick?” I asked.
Griff shrugged. “Drag you to my place so you can nurse me back to health.” He winked.
I had no idea what to do with this side of him. It was strange to have him comforting me, checking to make sure I had throat lozenges and honey tea.
“You are feeling better?” He seemed to study me, as if he could tell by looking at me how I was feeling. He lifted a hand and placed it on my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish anymore.”
I nodded. “I feel a ton better. Just tired. I suppose I could probably go to work tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “No. But I might have to at least go into the office. You should take another day, though. Get more rest, catch up on your writing if you feel up to it. Rest is the most important, though.”
I sighed. “I don’t have endless days off, you know?”
“What if you did?” he said. “What if you didn’t have a day job? What if you could just focus on your writing?”
I snorted. “Yeah, that’s the dream. Writing full-time would be amazing. But that sort of thing is a few years away, when I can definitely afford it and only if my books continue to do well. But I can’t right now.” The smell of the fresh coffee filled the air, letting me know that my sinuses were less stuffed now. For the past two days smell and taste had eluded me.
He looked at me, studying me closely. He stepped closer, not fully in my space, but definitely like he wanted to pull me into his arms.
“Remember what I said when I first got here on Wednesday? This is real for me, Taylor, it’s not just a fling. I like you. All of you. Everything about you. Well, maybe not the way you organize your fridge. That’s kind of a mess. But as a person, you are amazing.”
“Okay,” I said. “I really like you, too.” There was nothing wrong with my fridge organization; you couldn’t organize something if it was empty.
“I don’t want this to be just fling or just sex. I want a relationship with you, one I can tell my friends about and one where I can show you off at work events.”
