“Please. Do you remember me ever taking a sick day in school?” Her mouth shifts to the side, and she shrugs. “Okay, a sick day when I was really sick.”
“You’re presuming I paid attention to what you were doing when we were in school.”
“Don’t try that bullshit on me. You paid attention. The point is I never get stomach bugs. It’s like my superpower.”
I grunt. “That sounds like a load of bullshit.”
“Well, here’s a way to prove me wrong. Let me in.” She pushes on the door again. “Come on. It’s cold out here, and I brought gifts.”
I back up and let the door swing open. “For the record, I’m only letting you in because I like proving I’m right.” Then I add, “And I like gifts.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says, brushing past me and wrinkling her nose. “You need a shower. You stink like barf.”
“That’s because I’ve been surrounded by barf for nearly forty-eight hours. You can’t walk in and complain about the smell when you forced your way in here. Why are you here anyway?” I lower my voice and cast a glance toward my room. “Oh Jesus, you didn’t think the hard-on comment was an invitation, did you?”
She visibly recoils. “I just said you smell like barf. I’m into a lot of shit, but screwing a guy who reeks of puke doesn’t make the list.”
I wipe my face with my hand. The movement throws off my balance, and I stumble backward, my back hitting the wall.
She grabs my arm and leads me over to the sofa. “I’m not here for any other purpose than to check on you two.” After she leads me over to the sofa and pushes me down, she glances around the room. “Where’s Jane?” She gives me a look. “As much as I would love to think of Evelyn Labelle cleaning up puke, I’m guessing she didn’t offer to watch her for the night.”
“Evelyn? Clean up puke?” I scoff. “More like her household staff.” My voice softens. “She’s sleeping in my bed.”
Holly sets the bag on the coffee table and sits in front of me, then places the back of her hand against my forehead. “When was the last time you took your temperature?”
“I took Jane’s a couple of hours ago.”
“Not Jane.You.”
I shrug then lean back into the cushions, exhausted from my efforts to get up and open the door.
“Where’s the thermometer?”
I tell her it’s on my bedside table. She walks into my room and emerges with the digital thermometer, wearing a funny expression. “What happened to the good old-fashioned kind? This looks like some kind of sex toy.”
I shoot a panicked glance at my bedroom door.
“Calm down, Big Papa. She’s asleep. But why is it shaped like this?” she asks in an accusatory tone, lifting it up.
“So you can hold it while you point it at someone’s forehead.” My lips curve up into a grin. “When was the last time you took your temperature?”
“When I was a kid. I told you. I don’t get sick.” She tilts her head. “Although Bryn does from time to time, and she has the old-fashioned digital kind you stick under your tongue.” Pressing the power button on the thermometer, she points it at my forehead. It beeps, then beeps again. A frown tugs at her mouth. “One hundred-point-two. When was the last time you took something for your fever?”
I close my eyes. “This morning, but I couldn’t keep it down.”
I can’t believe she’s in my living room while Jane is sleeping. I know I should freak out about that, but I can’t bring myself to care. She’s beautiful, and I look like death warmed over, yet she hasn’t run away, even if she should. This bug is vicious. Before I was hit with this virus, all I could think about was stripping her naked again, and while I feel a phantom urge to do just that, I can’t muster the energy to even lift my hands.
“Drink this.”
When I open my eyes, she’s sitting on the coffee table, holding out a can with a straw. “Drink it.”
“What is it?’
“For the love of God, I didn’t lace it with moonshine. It’s ginger ale. Now drink it.”
I angle a look at her. “Logan brought Gatorade and dropped it inside the front door this morning.”
“Well good for Logan,” she says, shoving the can in front of my face. “But he’s not here right now, and the carbonation will be good for your stomach. Drink.”
