“Are you leaving?” Her question is shy, confirming my earlier assumptions that she wants me to stay but doesn’t know how to ask. What she doesn’t know is that I couldn’t leave her here like this even if I wanted to, and I do not want to.
“No, sweetheart, I was just going to grab something from the kitchen. Can I sit in here with you?” I want her to say yes. No, Ineedher to say yes.
Her little nod is everything. I give her hand a squeeze before ducking into the kitchen.
Her eyes are closed and her breathing even when I tiptoe back into her room a minute later, headed for the chair in the corner. Where my room has a sleek black leather chair, which I’ve discovered is more comfortable than it looks, hers has an overstuffed armchair and ottoman in teal green. Rustling sheets and the sound of my name stops me before I can settle in.
She’s lying on her side and facing me, arms wrapped around one of her pillows. Her eyes are halfway open, fluttering and heavy-looking. She extends her top arm and pats the bed next to her.
“You don’t have to sit all the way over there.”
Her eyes drift closed but her arm stays extended. I know what the smart thing to do is—both because she’s sick and because of our boundaries—but I’m not feeling particularly smart at the moment.I grab two pillows from the stack so I can sit upright next to her. The bed is soft as I stretch my legs out in front of me.
As her breathing eases again, I take stock of the pain in my knee. It’s a reminder of all I’ve lost in the last year, and the heightened emotions only bring it to the surface. She’s fine. This isn’t the same. She won’t be another person I lose. The thought has me reaching for that extended hand, trying to ground myself. She doesn’t open her eyes, but her fingers curl around mine, and I realize this is the most connected to another person I’ve been in a long time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Joss
I’m dazed when I wake up. Everything feels heavy and warm around the edges. It’s dark aside from the light filtering in from the kitchen. I slowly get my bearings and one thing comes through in vivid clarity. There’s a man in my bed, and we are holding hands. His breathing is quiet and steady, his palm dwarfing mine.
He stayed. Wes stayed. He didn’t have to, but he did. I feel a constriction in my chest at the thought. My eyes adjust to the low light so I can take in more of his features. Is it creepy to watch him sleep? His Kindle lies across his chest and his arm is thrown over his face, the upper half hidden in the crook of his elbow.
His lips part slightly as he breathes. What would they feel like if I ran my thumb across them? His jaw is relaxed and the beard that was stubble when we met is more pronounced now. I’ve never beenparticularly attracted to men with facial hair, but it’s different with Wes. The ruggedness only adds to his appeal.
His chest rises and falls as I continue my perusal of his body.Dangerous, Joss.He’s not under the blankets, so I can take everything in. His shirt has ridden up a couple inches, hinting at the muscles underneath. Seeing a man’s stomach is nothing new. I see shirtless men all the time in the surf. It’s not even the first time I’m seeing Wes’s abs. Despite rushing to get in and out of our wetsuits, it’s inevitable. And it is a sight to behold. But here and now, the proximity of it… My mind is reeling with things it probably shouldn’t be.
Time to move on, Joss, or you’ll stare at that little strip of skin all night.
He should have gone home to change out of his jeans, but I know why he didn’t. He was worried, likereallyworried. I could see it written all over his face, feel it in his every touch. My body likely took this particular illness so hard because I never get sick. I can’t believe I passed out in the hallway. No wonder he panicked.
His feet are bare, crossed at the ankles. It’s such an inconsequential thing, but there’s something sodomesticabout it.
The softest squeeze on my hand brings my eyes to where they’re joined. Another squeeze. He’s awake. The arm that was over his face is now behind his head, and it’s his turn to take me in. Not that there’s much of me to see, hidden under the blankets like I am. He’s searching my face, eyes bouncing between my own. What is he looking for? What does he see? The scrutiny has me breaking eye contact. It’s too much, too intense.
He moves his Kindle to the bedside table, and then, without pulling his hand away, rolls to his side to face me. His touch is featherlight as he skims his fingers across my forehead and down my cheek.
“How are you feeling?” he asks in a raspy voice. Concern is etched into the lines of his face, replacing the peace from moments before.
“Better. A little groggy, but better.”
We’re so close right now, only about a foot separating us, our hands clasped firmly in the middle.
“I think your fever broke. You’re not hot anymore.”
“Ouch. Way to kick a woman while she’s down.” The little chuckle I give him is the most I can muster at this point, but I like needling him.
“You know that’s not what I meant, Grey.” He sighs, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear with gentle fingers. He lingers there, brushing ever so slightly, sending a shiver that has nothing to do with fever down my spine. “You could be throwing up and I’d hold your hair and tell you you’re beautiful. There’s not a version of you that wouldn’t be hot to me.”
Well, damn. I blush all the way to my toes. Sleep must’ve addled his brain to make him say these things. We haven’t said anything remotely flirtatious to each other since the day we agreed to be just friends.
I drop my eyes and tuck my chin toward my chest, feeling embarrassed… or maybe I’m pleased. Hearing those words felt way too good. I focus on our entwined fingers and give them a little squeeze before trying to release my hand, but he holds firm.
“You stayed?” I ask the question even though I know the answer. But I can’t understand why he did. Stay. No one ever does.
“Of course I stayed. You asked me to, and I wanted to be here to take care of you.” His eyes are earnest, boring into mine. The last part of his statement makes me want to cry. He wants to take care of me? I’ve been taking care of myself for so long I forgot how good it feels to have someone to lean on.
The tears well in my eyes, and I can’t stop the first one that falls. Too tired and sick to control my emotions the way I’ve taught myself to over the years. Instead of pulling back, the way I always expect people to when I show any feelings, he reaches for me and pulls me into a crushing hug.
