Page 43 of Already Callin’ You Mine

Jace nods. Reaching out and taking the mixing bowl from me, he stands up from the bed, handing me a glass full of ginger ale.

“Sip slow,” he instructs. I nod, doing as I’m told, gently lifting the glass to my lips and letting the crisp, bubbly liquid slide over my tongue. “And yes, it’s just past lunchtime.”

Holy fuck…how long did I sleep?

“How…wha…where’s Otis?”

“Napping on the couch. We’ve been nestled out there for most of the morning having a Curious George marathon.”

A Curious George marathon? This poor man. No adult deserves that, much less one who doesn’t actually have children.

“He’s feeling better,” Jace continues. “Not one hundred percent, but he hasn’t thrown up yet.”

“More than I can say,” I mumble.

Jace chuckles, disappearing into my bathroom. The sound of running water fills the silence and I scooch back in bed, propping myself up against the headboard. I focus on sipping my ginger ale, willing my stomach to cooperate. I have too much to do today—this weekend as a whole—to spend it laid out doing my best Exorcist impression.

A few minutes later, Jace reappears, a freshly rinsed bowl in hand. He places it on my nightstand, parking himself on the edge of my bed again.

“Need anything?” he asks.

“I need to get up.” I close my eyes for a second, then force them open, throwing the covers off me. I’m still dressed in the same sweatpants I was wearing last night, but a different T-shirt.

Oh, shit. Did Jace have to change me?

“You need to rest,” he corrects me, reaching out to stop me from moving. “There’s nothing so important that it’s worth pushing it.”

Says the man who doesn’t have a three-year-old…

I look him up and down, ready to bite back that he doesn’t understand. Except, all I can focus on is his shirt. His very clean, vomit-free shirt. He catches me looking, a smirk forming.

“I did a load of laundry,” he answers, my silent question still lingering in the air. “Threw it in with Otis’s pj’s that you had in the machine. They’re all folded; I just don’t know where they go.”

Okay, this has to be a dream. Someone pinch me. Either that or aliens came down from the sky and took over this man. He did laundry? Folded Otis’s clothes? I don’t even know how to respond.

“Feeling up to some Saltines? Maybe a little bit of Curious George?”

I scoff. “You have no idea how much I dislike Curious George. All those high-pitched, nonverbal sounds. The Man in the Yellow Hat is more patient and understanding than I will ever be. You, sir, and your ignorance, have very much been taken advantage of this morning.”

Jace shrugs. “It’s not that bad. Although I’m more than happy to switch to Toy Story and introduce Little Man to two of the best cartoon characters of all time. If that’s more palatable for you.”

I squint at him, trying to determine whether he’s serious. “You think Woody and Buzz are two of the best cartoon characters of all time?”

Jace scoffs. “Psssh, puh-lease. Mr. Potato Head and Hamm.”

A laugh erupts from me, the sip of ginger ale I just took spraying into the air. Oh, crap. That was unladylike. Then again, I don’t know why I’m worried about such a thing given the fact that I have thrown up all over this man, and he potentially changed my vomit-covered shirt. We are well past unladylike.

“Don’t you have better things to do with your Saturday?”

The casual lift of his shoulder doesn’t answer my question, but that’s all I get. That and a smirk that makes my panties all but melt right off. Seriously, it should be illegal to do this to a sick woman.

“Jace?”

My baby’s voice wafts down the hall, a weird electronic echo of it floating through the monitor by my bedside. My mom brain kicks in instantly—even though he didn’t call for me—acting as the catalyst to get me moving. Until my stomach fights back.

“Whoa, careful there, slugger,” Jace warns, reaching out for me.

His hands feel good on my skin—warm, kind, gentle—making me want to curl into him. Wanting to feel more of his touch. Something I have no business wanting. Sick or otherwise.