“Jesus, Lainey, it’s seven. You have been in here alone, puking for seven hours?!” The frustration I feel is not for her, it’s because I wasn’t here, couldn’t be here.But I’m here now.
“I wasn’t puking thewholetime.” She points to a little nest of mismatched towels next to her that I hadn’t noticed before. “When I wasn’t expelling the devil from my stomach, I was laying down.”
Filling a glass with cool water, I hand it to her so she can rinse her mouth. Then I go to my medicine cabinet and get the thermometer to take her temperature. 102.6. I hum and look at her again.
“Okay, let’s take a quick shower together and then you need to rest—in bed, not your littlesquirrel nest you have going on in here. I am not sure you have anything left in your body to puke. We can put a pot next to the bed just in case.”
“Mmmmkkay.” Her head is bobbing to the side, and I know she is fading. I turn on the shower, strip out of my own clothes, and then help Lainey undress as gently as I can. The shower feels so good on my aching muscles, and I wish I could stay in here longer, but I need to get Lainey to bed. Washing her quickly and keeping her weak body upright is a challenge, but I loop her arms around my neck and we get the job done.
Wrapping her in a towel, I scoop Lainey into my arms and set her on the bed. “Thank you, it feels nice to be clean after all of that.” She is watching me dry off and pull on my gym shorts. Even fevered and sick, she is still looking at me with hunger in her glassy eyes.
“None of that, Ms. Quinn. You are not in any state for me to make good on my promises from yesterday.”
A wild giggle leaves Lainey’s mouth that she tries to cover. “What’s so funny?” I ask her as I bring out her brush and blow-dryer, knowing that she hates sleeping with wet hair.
“Oh, nothing, it’s something your mom said yesterday.” She sighs, smiling and looking into space like she’s reliving the conversation.
“Care to share with the class?” I run my fingers through her hair, eliciting a moan from her lips that makes my cock come to life.
Not now, asshole, she’s sick.
“Nope.” Lainey pops thepsound and smiles up at me. If she wasn’t so sick I’d spank her perfect ass and start something she couldn’t resist. By the end of it I’m sure she’d tell me what made her giggle and give her that dreamy look.
After I finish drying her hair very carefully, having never done it before, I tuck Lainey into bed. When I bring her a large pot and put it on the nightstand she looks from it to me.
“Why a pot? Why not a bowl or trash can?” she asks out of genuine curiosity.
“It’s what my mom always did when we were little. And this pot has two handles to hold on to when you’re puking. Better grip than a slippery bowl. Less chance you spill on yourself.”
“That’s nice,” Lainey says, sinking into her pillow, “and gross.”
Laughing, I tell her, “Yeah, it is.” I climb into bed and pull her into my arms, finally getting what I was thinking about all damn night.
“I don’t want you to get sick.” She’s trying to pull away from me, but I won’t let her.
“Doesn’t matter. I need this, baby. If I get sick, I get sick.” I kiss her hot temple, and she sighs. I can feel her gearing up to argue, so I say, “I hate that you were here and so miserable all alone. Please just let me take care of you now, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Lainey says, knowing exactly what that does to me.
“Sleep,” I rumble, tightening my arms and letting my own exhaustion pull me under.
36
Lainey
The last thing I wanted was for Remington to see me sick like that. Thankfully by the time he had gotten home most of the puking was over. Being alone when I was sick was something that I was used to. Making my “squirrel nest,” as Remington called it, was just another way that I made sure I was less of a burden when I was little, and it carried over to adulthood.
The flu or any other illness when I was a kid didn’t mean Popsicles, snuggles, cartoons, and my mom staying close reading me books. I was sequestered away with my germs, checked on occasionally, and sanitized once I was better. How dare I get sick and have the audacity to bring it into the house and inconvenience everyone?
Remington’s loving compassion and concern was overwhelming and unexpected. Letting someone in, letting someone take care of me, especially in moments of vulnerability, is almost impossible for me. In the past there were always strings attached that bound me tightly in guilt. This man doesn’t make me feel any of that, only loved.
When I woke up I felt much better, and my fever had broken. Remington was still fast asleep, his strong, muscular body relaxed and hopefully not being rampaged by my invisible germs. Sliding out of bed as quietly as I could, I hurriedly brush my teeth, do my morning skin care, and rub the crimp in my neck from laying on the bathroom floor and all the hurling. I pull on my soft, knee-length, cotton robe covered in wildflowers—a gift from Remington. He told me it was another way he found to give me more flowers, and these ones wouldn’t wilt. I love it so much.
Even though it’s late in the day, I decide to make us breakfast for dinner. I know that my stomach needs something plain after the war it waged. My burning throat is a reminder of the awful night, and I slowly drink a cool glass of water, praying it won’t make a reappearance. When I feel no nausea and less dizzy, relief takes over. I move about the kitchen making pancakes, scrambled eggs, and start the kettle for a cup of soothing ginger tea.
Strong arms gently wrap around my stomach and warm lips kiss the side of my neck as I flip my second batch of pancakes. “Mmmm,” Remington hums into my neck. “I take this as a good sign? You feeling better, baby?”
“Much,” I sigh with ease. Spinning around, I look over his handsome face with concern. “How areyoufeeling?”
