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I stood abruptly, edging around the coffee table and keeping my distance. “Okay. Just sit on the toilet. I don’t trust your aim in this state.”
Three days and a remarkably-improved-Quinn later, it was my turn.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. No matter how hot I turned the dial, the water wasn’t hot enough.
With studded breaths, I hobbled back into my room and jerked on my linen pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the difference between a cat and a comma showcased on the front.
Perhaps Quinn might find it informative.
A wave of dizziness washed over me and I fought through it. I would not get sick. Not today. It would have to wait for the weekend.
The hairdryer seemed only to pump cool air, so I switched to scrubbing with a towel.
My phone beeped, and I checked the calendar update. I had to attend three classes and the weekly Scribe meeting. A glance at my watch said I was going to be late.
Shrugging my bag over my shoulder, I straggled into the kitchen, where Quinn was standing in his flannel pajama pants, tank-top, and worn gray slippers with his back against the counter listening to the radio as he shoveled cereal into his mouth.
“Morning,” he said, sliding to the side as I filled a glass with water to soothe my dry throat. I took a sip and winced. Swallowing would not be fun today.
“You’re looking a little flushed this morning,” Quinn said, scraping the bowl clean.
I convulsed in another shiver and resettled my bag strap higher on my shoulder. “Flushed? It’s freezing in here.” I grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl. Behind me came the clatter of dishes. “Right,” I said. “Bye.”
A hand gripped my elbow, and Quinn coaxed me around. I dropped the orange to the counter and yielded, chasing after the warmth of that touch.
Quinn’s mouth firmed into a thin line as he pressed a palm to my forehead. His gaze dropped to mine. “Yeah, you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ll be okay. I can hold off whatever this is until tomorrow.”
Quinn pulled at my bag strap and my load lightened. Quinn chucked it over his shoulder and steered me around. “Back to bed.”
“I really need to get to class—”
“You really need to get to bed. No arguing. Keep walking, or I will carry you there.”
I feebly attempted to brush him off, but the fever took over, deciding Quinn’s plans of snuggling back into bed were far superior to mine.
“Maybe just for an hour,” I conceded. I would pump down a few painkillers and when they kicked in, I would make it to my second class.
Quinn laughed as he peeled back my sheets.
I collapsed onto the bed and let him tuck me in. He molded the covers around me, firmly pressing them to my sides, and then ducked out of my room only to return with more blankets.
They smelled faintly of Quinn. Quinn right after a shower, a mix of Axe and cashmere shampoo. “Have you washed these since you got sick?”
“Of course you’d ask that.” He pinched my foot on his way out. “Yesterday.”
“You must have slept with them since then. They have your scent.”
He paused at the door. “Does that bother you?”
“It might have a couple weeks ago, but your smell has grown on me. I’ll tell you when I’m sick of it.”
I thought that was it, that Quinn would go off and do whatever he had to do. But he didn’t. Throughout the delirium of my fever, he brought me cups of hot tea, hot water bottles, and hot chicken broth.
After I’d sweated through the first bout, he pulled me out of bed with cool hands. “Time to take off that funny shirt of yours and hop into the shower.”
I pinched the sweaty comma-cat T-shirt from my skin, a flutter of cool air skittering over my chest. “It’s not just funny. It’s true.”
Grabbing a fistful of material at the back, I pried the thing off me and it sounded like Velcro being ripped apart. Positively nasty.
Quinn scrunched his nose. “Dump it on the bed and go wash.”
The last of the fever followed his orders, and I came back to a freshly-made bed and comfortable clothes to climb into.
“So much for working,” I told myself as I greedily climbed back into bed. I slapped a hand toward my bedside table, feeling for my phone. At least I’d give Hannah some notice that I wouldn’t be at the meeting today.
“You’re not the only one missing the meeting,” Hannah said, lowering her voice. “I overheard Jill telling the chief that Jack had to visit his brother in the prison infirmary. Apparently he got hurt pretty badly. But don’t worry about the politics page. Chief said something about asking you, but I’d be totally happy to help out. You just get yourself better.”
