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“Alright, I’ll be right outside. Shout if you need me.”
I walk away before my control snaps and head back to the kitchen just as there is a knock at the door. “I’ve got it,” I call out. I pull the door open, collect the groceries from the driver, and start putting them away as I figure out where they go.
Emma walks in a little while later, dressed in the PJs I dug out, her hair now dry. She eyes the now full fridge with a frown as I put the last two items away. “What’s all this?”
“Food,” I tell her, shutting it. Before I can elaborate, the door goes again. I point to the sofa and give her a stern look, to which she rolls her eyes but does what I want.
I grab the food from the driver, the smell making my stomach rumble. “You up for eating a little something?”
“Well, I don’t feel sick right this second, so now is as good a time as any, I guess. Just don’t give me a lot.”
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” Probably should have asked that before. I’m not used to looking after anyone else.
“No, and I’m not fussy either, as long as there is no liver or anchovies involved.”
I dish up a small bowl of pasta and a slice of garlic bread, place them on a tray with a fork and a bottle of water, and carry it over to Emma.
“Oh, that smells good.”
“Figured you can’t go wrong with pasta.”
“Well, we’re about to find out.”
“Tuck in while I dish myself up a plate, and I’ll bring your meds in for you.”
She doesn’t need telling twice. She lifts a forkful of pasta into her mouth and groans in appreciation. “This is good.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I call out as I move to grab my own food. We sit and eat side by side on the sofa in her tiny flat, watching reruns of some cooking show, neither of us speaking a word. I don’t remember ever feeling more comfortable with a woman than I do right now. I don’t know what it is about Emma that sets her apart from the rest. Perhaps it’s her age, and the fact that she’s not trying to do anything to impress me. If anything, it’s the opposite. Emma should come with a warning sign. Whatever lies ahead of us will be nothing but trouble, and yet, I can’t wait to see what happens next. After all, you don’t get to be a brother in the RBMC by being a pussy.
15
Emma
Waking up in bed the next morning, my stomach rolling like a ship in a storm, I could be forgiven for thinking yesterday was nothing but a fever dream if it weren’t for the smell of Lick’s aftershave lingering on my skin. As much as I love the smell, the baby has other ideas. I groan, ready to throw myself off the bed. Before I can make a move, strong arms wrap around me, carrying me across the hall to the bathroom and lowering me to my knees so I can throw up in the toilet.
He disappears for a minute, then reappears with water and what I suspect is my medication. I squint my eyes and groan with embarrassment. Doesn’t matter if it’s beyond my control, there is nothing sexy about throwing up in front of an incredibly hot guy.
Once I’m done and my stomach is cramping like a motherfucker, I reach up and flush the toilet, happy to accept the cool washcloth from Lick.
“You okay?”
“Fabulous.” I sigh.
He chuckles, twisting the cap on the bottle and holding it out to me. “Small sips.”
I do as he asks, not wanting to start throwing up again.
“Think you can get one of these down? It should help.”
“I’m more worried about keeping it down.”
“You’ve gotta try.”
“Yes, sir.” I aim for sarcastic, but it comes out a little whiny instead. Even so, I take the pill and swallow it down with a prayer that it stays down.
He helps me to my feet and walks me back to the bedroom and eases me down onto the bed. “I’ll grab you some ginger ale and some ginger biscuits.”
“You stayed?” I mean, obviously, he stayed. I just didn’t expect him to. I dozed off on the sofa and have a vague memory of him carrying me to bed.
