God, this is disgusting.
Caleb doesn’t stir, though, not even as I shake my arm to try to get some blood back into it. He’s collapsed in the corner of the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, head slumped against a throw pillow that’s seen better days. He’s snoring gently, lips parted, and looking like the most handsome thing that’s ever been in my apartment.
I’m about to stand up when his eyes open and laser focus on me.
“You’re awake,” he groans, voice rusty and lower than usual. “How do you feel?”
“Like I just spent the last eight hours baking in a sauna,” I mutter.
He grins, the dimples in his cheeks so fucking sexy it hurts. “I’m glad the fever broke. You look better, Maddy.”
I blink, confused as to how those words could possibly be true. My hair is glued to my temples. My mouth feels like sandpaper. My nose is still running. But I guess I’m no longer feeling feverish, so that’s at least something.
I actually feel… okay.
“I guess I do feel better.”
He reaches over to me, using the back of his hand to press against my forehead. “Your temp seems normal,” he says, relief obvious in his voice. “Maybe you should take a shower? I always feel better when I do that when I’ve had a fever.”
Mortification detonates in my mind, as I quickly smell my pits, horrified at what he’s insinuating. “You could’ve just told me I reeked.”
“Maddy, you don’t smell.” He shakes his head, as if the mere thought is ridiculous. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“You didn’t have to stay last night,” I protest, which is maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever uttered, because if there’s one thing I secretly, desperately wanted last night, it was someone to just be here. Even if it meant having him see me look so disgusting this morning.
Caleb shrugs. “I was worried about you.”
He stands and stretches, once again looking effortlessly hot. He’s still in slacks and yesterday’s shirt. “Want me to start the shower for you?”
I choke out a laugh. “Um… like in my bathroom?” I want to facepalm myself for sounding so stupid.
He raises his eyebrows. “Unless you prefer to marinate on the couch a bit longer?”
No. I do not. I want to peel this crusty comforter off me and start over.
“I’d actually rather take a bath—I’m not sure standing up in a hot shower is such a great idea right now. But the bathtub is pretty finicky. Sometimes the faucet just doesn’t work,” I warn, but Caleb is already halfway to the bathroom, sleeves rolled, whistling some unidentifiable song.
My apartment is tiny and the walls are thin, so I can hear him as he works—the squeal of the hot water handle, the thud of a towel getting yanked off the shelf, and the muttered commentary as he tests the water with his finger.
Ugh. Why is this man so perfect?I’ve never had anyone take care of me like this. I didn’t even think it existed in real life.
I pull the comforter off me and try to forget the fact that I probably smell like a compost bin. Then I take inventory. My head is clear. My skin is still gross but not on fire. My chest doesn’t ache when I breathe. The only thing that hurts is my dignity.
Cool. This is totally not weird.
Caleb pops his head out of the bathroom. “You ready? Because I’m not sure how long I can keep this damn faucet jammed in place.”
“I told you it’s finicky.” I stand, instantly dizzy, but before I can even say “whoa,” he’s at my side, one hand steadying my elbow while the other holds a glass of water and Tylenol. His concern is so sweet, I literally might die from it.
“Drink,” he orders, but it’s soft, like he’s talking to a wounded animal.
I take the pill, drink the water, and try not to notice how warm his fingers are on my arm. I’m suddenly hyperaware of every place his body is touching mine, and I donotwant him to pull away.
He peers down at me. “Can you walk?”
“I’m not crippled,” I protest, but my knees almost buckle on the way to the bathroom. Caleb catches me by the waist and wedo a weird two-step shuffle the rest of the way. I still lean into him, feeling his body pressed against mine.
And I like it. I like itwaytoo much.
