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Her dramatics make me grin. A girl after my own heart. I’ve been called dramatic a few times in my life.
“Don’t make it a big deal. I’m going to look in the medicine cabinet for the thermometer.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, snuggling into the blanket. I’m almost to the door of her bathroom when I hear her speak.
“Graham?”
“Yeah?” I look back at her.
“I still hate you.”
“Still don’t care, babe.”
After a few minutes of searching for the thermometer, I finally find one and take her temperature, which comes back at almost a hundred and three, cementing the fact that she probably does have the flu… or something worse. I read the labels of all of the medicines I got at the pharmacy and give her one with a pain reliever.
With her fever being so high, it’s no surprise that she’s fast asleep before I can even take the soup out of the bag, so instead, I throw away some of the bottles and takeout containers.
I feel domesticated as fuck right now, and I know better than to ever voice it to her, but fuck… I like being here with Emery.
I’m liking it far too much to be doing this with a woman I can’t have. I know her and her defenses. Emery puts up a wall, but everything about her makes me want to tear it down just to get to her.
Once I’m done in the kitchen, I warm up the soup and fix her a bowl, then grab her a bottle of water and another dose of medicine. Setting it down, I pull the blankets back from her face and for a moment… just a single moment, my eyes study her face, drinking her in.
Even sick as a dog, Emery Davidson is breathtaking. She has a way of making me trip over my feet while I’m standing still.
“Em,” I whisper, pushing a loose piece of hair from her damp forehead. The fever’s broke, so the medicine must be working.
She lets out a groggy groan, then cracks open an eye. “Graham?”
I grin. “The one and only.”
Shakily, she pulls herself into a sitting position and looks around the room. “What happened? Oh god, I feel like I got run over with a Zamboni. Everything. Hurts.”
She falls back to the couch and groans.
“That’s it. Get up, you’re going to the doctor. You need fluid. Antibiotics. UP.”
The look she gives me is one that says I should probably duck and cover my nuts, but instead, she shakily sits up and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Just know I’m only agreeing because I am way too hot to die. I haven’t even been to Paris yet. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris, and I can’t die before I get there.”
My lips tug into a grin as I lean down and help her up, looping my arm around her waist and lifting her easily.
“Gonna throw on a hoodie and put on real shoes.” Glancing down at her slippers, she frowns. “Although I think my bunny slippers are chic, I don’t think the doctor will agree.”
This girl is fucking even more hilarious when she’s doped up on cold medicine.
“I’ll wait here for you,” I say, leaning against the frame of her door. My gaze never leaves her while she throws on an old Avalanche hoodie and trades the slippers for a pair of Converse. When she walks back through the door, her cheeks are flushed red and the bags under her eyes seem to have turned even darker.
“Let’s go, you look terrible.”
Her eyes roll. “Thanks. I feel like a corpse.”
“You’re sick, Em. We’ll get you to the doctor and then you’ll be back to your sassy self in no time.”
“Lucky you.”
I help her into my SUV, and after a quick drive, we arrive at her doctor. Thank fuck they were able to squeeze her in; I’m sure it had everything to do with the fact that she looks and sounds like death.
