I really shouldn’t have taken that shoveling job.
His large hand brushed against my forehead, and I stiffened, forgetting to breathe. Lifting my gaze, I met his watchful stare as his palm flattened while midnight eyes scrutinized my face.
I could feel my heartbeat in my ears by the time he pulled back and pursed his lips.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Uhh…” I stuttered. How was I supposed to be aware of anything but him? I could be half dead, and it wouldn’t even register. “Uh-huh.”
Smirking, he snatched something off the bedside table, and a light beep echoed through the room. “Open up.”
I stared at the wand in his hand, skeptical. “You just felt my head.”
“Open your mouth,” he said again, this time his eyes saying more than his lips.
My chin dropped, and he made a sound of satisfaction and slipped the metal-tipped thing beneath my tongue.
“Close.”
I did as he instructed but scowled so he knew I wasn’t happy about it. This thing was cold and?—
The bed dipped as he sat down, my body sliding an inch closer to his.
Shock rendered me immobile, and his low laugh filled the room. “I’m gonna hold it. I don’t trust you enough not to spit it out.”
I found myself nodding, agreeing, even though it wasn’t true.
He barked a laugh, which settled into a smile, and all that black on black on black erupted into color. His smile.Thatsmile. It was mesmerizing. A glimpse into a secret garden. An explanation of the extravagant gate he hid behind.
Something so genuine, so infectious, had to be on lockdown. Protected at any cost. Frankly, I was a little in awe that a guy like me with literally nothing was somehow suddenly gifted with so much.
Rapid beeping erupted between us, and he pulled the thermometer away.
“Wait.” I gasped, trying to grab it back. Grab him back.
“Slow your roll,” he cautioned, lifting it out of reach. “It’s done.”
“I’m not.” The words fell out as though my head were some kind of bag with a hole in it.Embarrassing.
“Like having things in your mouth, do you?” he quipped.
My face flamed, and it was good the thermometer wasn’t in my mouth still because it would likely explode.
“Ninety-nine,” he announced.
“That’s normal,” I said, relieved.
“Ninety-eight is normal.” He corrected me, waving the thermometer. “This is still high.”
Judging from the hazy memories from before, I would say itwashigh, and now it wasn’t.
“How long have I been here?” I asked, glancing across the room at the few plastic shopping bags on the dresser beneath the TV. Surprised, I followed up on my first question. “Did you get medicine for me?”
“It was that or take you to the hospital,” he replied,glancing at a chunky matte black watch on his wrist. “Twenty-six hours.”
He got medicine for me and watched over me for an entire day.
“This shirt?” I asked, plucking the fabric away from my chest.
