“To be close to you.” My heart bucks like a rodeo bull, and then he quickly adds, “In case any of you needed something.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage.
“I wasn’t about to leave with both you and Emmett sick.”
“No, of course not,” I say dumbly. But it’s not a matter of course. Who else would have stayed under the circumstances? All night? Sleeping in an eight-year-old’s room after feeding and taking care of the whole family?
Not many people. Not Carter.
It’s too much to ask.
I’d like to do something. Give Luc something. But the only thing I have to offer right now is a fever and sore throat. He wouldn’t want that.
He’s lying on his side, facing me. I’m not going to kiss him. That would gross him out. And if it didn’t gross him out, it would confuse the hell out of him.
I’m confused, and I still want to kiss him.
I reach up and touch his cheek. “Thank you so much.”
Luc covers my hand with his, pressing it closer. I feel his smile. Somewhere under my palm, a dimple is shining in all its naked glory.
“It’s nothing,” he whispers.
“It’s not nothing,” I counter.
The smile under my hand grows. “Okay,boba,it’s not nothing. It’s something, but it’s something I want to do.”
I can’t go anywhere safe with that, so I get prickly instead. “Why are you calling meboba?What does it mean?”
He chuckles. “It means a few things,” he hedges, keeping my hand pressed to his face, “but the way I’m using it meanssilly.”
“Silly?” I frown. “What else does it mean?”
Laughing, he shakes his head, and my hand goes with it. “Don’t ask. You’d just get mad.”
I jerk my hand away. “Mad? What does it mean?”
He snatches back my hand—laughing harder now—and brings it back to his face, except it’s not my hand now, but my fist, balled tight.
“I’m just going to look it up on my phone,” I threaten.
“Whereisyour phone?” he asks, sounding like a know-it-all.
And this question makes me wonder. I have no idea. I remember David putting me in the car with my purse. I hope it’s not still in the car. David parked in the drive, and I doubt anyone moved the car into the garage. Our neighborhood is beautiful, but there are car break-ins all too often.
I tug at my arm, but he doesn’t even loosen his grip. “Where is my purse?”
“It’s downstairs.”
“Hmph.”I let my arm go slack. We both know I’m not up for a trip downstairs just to get my phone to look up a stupid word. But then it hits me. Luc probably has his phone on him. I’ve seen him on the phone maybe a dozen times. If he has it on him, it’s in his right front pocket, which right now would be the side that’s toward the ceiling, not the one he’s lying on.
My left hand is trapped under his right. I’m lying on my right side, but maybe…
I slide my right arm down, gliding over the mattress between us. “Are you going to tell me what else it means?” I might as well give him one last chance to come clean.
Luc snickers. “No. You’re in a fevered state. You’ll forget all about this in the morning.”
That does it. “Fine.”
