Cole
“Fucking stomach bug,” I grunt after my latest round of dry-heaving. Jane and I have been sick for two days now, and while she’s on the uphill swing, I’m still in the trenches.
I rinse out my mouth and shuffle back to my bed, where Jane is propped up on pillows, sipping on one of the Gatorades Logan dropped off earlier in the day.
She gives me a pitying look as I crawl across the bed. I let my arms collapse, and my upper body flops onto the mattress.
“Your phone buzzed,” Jane says, giving me a wary look. “You got a text.”
“It’s probably Uncle Logan checking on us.” He didn’t come in when he brought over the supplies, instead cutting through the brewery and leaving the bags inside our front door before beating a quick retreat. Once he was at a safe distance, he texted that the Gatorade and crackers had been delivered. Jane had tried to FaceTime him, but he’d quickly texted back.
Logan:Sorry, Janie, but I can’t handle puke. FaceTime me when you haven’t barfed for twenty-four hours.
“EvenIknow you can’t catch vomiting over FaceTime,” Jane had grumbled.
Maybe the alert from my phone meant Logan had finally come to his senses and texted an apology.
But when I finally pick up my phone and open my screen, I’m surprised to see a text from Holly.
How are my little barfers today?
There’s nothing sexy about any part of that text, yet my pulse picks up. I roll over onto my back and hold up my phone to text back. Jane has turned on theAlvin and the Chipmunksmovie, one of her favorites to watch when she feels sick, so I’m not worried about her noticing. Mostly. I still turn the screen slightly away from her.
Me:There’s no part of me that’s little, and I’m currently the only barfer. Poor Jane is living off saltines and cereal since I can’t seem to find the strength to crawl into the kitchen
Not that she’s asking for food. While she hasn’t thrown up since about four a.m., she’s still pale and listless.
Holly: Are you one of those notorious man babies? That might be a deal breaker. I can’t have you whining about a sniffle while I’m riding your cock.
Damn. I hardly have the strength to hold my arms up to type my text, but my dick mans up and springs to life at the thought of a naked Holly on my lap.
Me:Stop. That perked up my dick, and now what little blood supply I had feeding my brain has been shuttled to a useless hard-on.
Holly:You must be close to death if you think a hard-on is useless.
“What did Uncle Logan say?” Jane asks, pulling the covers up under her chin.
Shit. She thinks I’m texting Logan. “He’s just checking on us. He feels bad that he didn’t answer your FaceTime.” He hasn’t said so yet, but he will. All Jane will have to do is bat her baby brown eyes at him, and he’ll melt into a puddle of goo and apologize. For a man who swears he’s never getting married and having kids, he sure has a soft spot for his niece.
She ignores me and sinks deeper into the pillows. I grab the thermometer and take her temperature, relieved her fever has come down. After I wipe her forehead with a damp washcloth, she falls asleep, and I doze off soon afterward.
The room is dark when I hear pounding at the back door. I know it’s not Logan, because he has keys, and even if he feels badly about denying Jane her FaceTime call, he wouldn’t come back and risk ingesting our germs.
“Cole, I’ve been calling for ten minutes. If you don’t open this door right now, I’ll have Rowan come over with his fireman ax and break down your door.”
It’s Holly. What the hell is she doing here?
I stumble out of bed, casting a backward glance to Jane, who has somehow slept through Holly’s racket.
When I reach the back door, I crack it an inch and peer through the opening. Holly’s standing on the porch holding a paper grocery bag.
“You look like the crypt keeper,” she says sarcastically. “Let me in.”
“We’re sick.”
“No shit, that’s why I’m here. Let me in.”
She pushes on the door, and I somehow find the strength to hold it closed. “You’ll get sick.”
