Page 3 of Let’s Be Real

“Just give me some Tylenol and let me die,” he grumbled, burrowing his face into the mattress.

“Not on my watch.” Digging into the bag from the pharmacy, I pulled out the thermometer and ripped open the packaging.

Adrian cracked one eye open. “That better not be rectal.”

I arched a brow, even as my insides quivered with worry. “We both know you wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

He slammed his eye shut. “No ass play between friends.”

I laughed and brushed his hair back, swiping the thermometer over his forehead. “Did you read that in the Miss Manners column?”

He didn’t bother answering, and my mood for bantering plummeted as I read the number on the screen.

“Dammit, Ade. Your temperature is 102.4. Have you taken anything?”

“Don’t have any medicine,” he mumbled. “S’that bad?”

“No painkillers? What kind of adult are you?” Setting my bag on his bedside table, I cupped his cheeks to get his attention. “Lucky for you, I brought everything you need. Can I help you sit up? We need to get you hydrated and bring your temperature down.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Come on. You know how spindly my arms are. There’s no way I can lift you.”

I was only two inches shorter than Adrian, but he had at least fifty pounds on me. He’d once slung me over his shoulder when I’d started doing a striptease at a frat party in college, then a year later, I hadn’t been able to lift him off the bar floor when he’d drunk himself silly on St. Patrick’s Day. That had been more than ten years ago. I wasn’t any stronger now, but I imagined he could still put me over his shoulder on a good day.

Today was definitely not a good day, but he helped me move him until he was half sitting against his headboard. The way he winced and clutched at his stomach worried me more than the fever.

“Does your stomach hurt?” I tipped a bottle of water to his lips.

“Everything hurts,” he rasped. “Just need to sleep it off.”

He swallowed the pills I’d placed on his tongue but only drank a few sips. Concern gnawed at me as I watched him, pain slashing his features. It took a lot for Adrian to let on how he was feeling. This had to be beyond his control. He wasn’t even snarking at me.

He looked…small. Helpless. And he was neither of those things.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and above his upper lip. His dark hair was lank on his head, and his T-shirt clung to his torso. His skin was paler than I’d ever seen, and the shadows beneath his eyes were deep. I’d seen him at work the night before, and while he’d been quieter than normal, he hadn’t been anything like…this.

“You can go,” he slurred, eyes squeezed tight. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Douche is probably wondering where you are.”

I laughed despite myself. “Don’t call him that.”

“I’m dying. I can say what I want.”

Sliding my fingers into his hair, I looked him over. He was still slumped against the headboard, one arm cradling his stomach, his eyes shut with no sign of opening again. Maybe he was right and all he needed was to sleep it off.

“Okay.” I stood by the bed, straightening everything on the bedside table. “I’m going out to dinner. Call me if you need anything, and I’ll come back.”

His brow twitched. “Don’t need a thing.”

“Sure you don’t, Mr. Independent. Maybe I should come back with a rectal thermometer to teach you some humility.”

Another twitch. “You just wanna see my butt.”

“I’ve seen it plenty of times.” I gave his cheek a soft pat. “Get some rest. I’ll check back in on you later.”