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Norah
I can’t believe this is happening to me. Colby Stuart is dragging me into his house, and I’m pretty sure I have throw-up splattered on the front of my favorite sweater. It’s pitch black outside, so I can’t be sure. But on a positive note, if I can’t see it, neither can he!
He’s once again rescuing me, and I don’t know how to process this. Once can be deemed a fluke, but two times… Two times is a pattern.
He wanted to carry me from his truck, but I have a strict rule about only letting a man carry me once a night. I just made it up three minutes ago, when he was insisting that I let him pick me up, but it was enough to get him to let me walk.
I lean against his back while he unlocks his front door, which is admittedly too much physical contact for someone you just had to declare a truce with four days ago. But I’m so cold and tired, and he looks warm and cozy. I feel him tense up momentarily, and then his back muscles are rippling against my cheek when he reaches around behind him to grab my hand and direct me inside the door. I start to walk to his couch to lie down, but he stops me, declaring that I’m to change clothes and then it’s straight to bed.
I follow him to what I assume is the guest room. The walls are painted a soft gray, reminding me of my favorite rainy days, and the comforter is a deep plum. That’s surprising at first, but then I remember that Hannah said she lived with him for a little while. Perhaps it was her comforter. Or maybe Colby just likes the color purple.
I stand beside the bed, swaying on my feet, and wait for Colby to bring me some clothes. Ten years ago, if someone had told me that I’d be wearing Colby Stuart’s clothes twice in one month, I would have laughed in their face. But here I am.
He raps his knuckle against the door frame before coming back in and drops a plain black t-shirt and a pair of boxers with little hearts all over them on the bed. He wants me to wear his underwear. Cool. This is not the type of underwear I thought Colby would wear, but who am I to judge? Not that I think about his undies or anything. This is literally the first time.
“That’s all I have that’ll be comfortable to sleep in. I promise I’ve never even worn those boxers. Hannah gave them to me last week as a joke. I think she bought Seth the same ones,” he says, backing away from me. He’s probably trying to not catch whatever plague I’ve fallen prey to. But then, if that were the case, he probably shouldn’t have carried me earlier or brought me into his sterile home.
“It’s fine. At this point, you could’ve pulled them out of a trash bin, and I probably wouldn’t think twice about it.”
“That’s really gross, Norah,” he chuckles.
“I know.” The room starts to spin like a merry-go-round, so I sit on the bed to avoid falling over. He leaves the room to let me change. I pull on the t-shirt and boxers, fold my disgusting clothes and place them on the dresser, and then crawl into the bed. The sheets are soft, and they smell like my grandma’s laundry after she dried them on her clothesline on a warm summer day. After lying on the floor of Hannah’s office for who knows how long, this bed feels like being hugged by a cloud.
I drift off to sleep but wake to the feel of rough hands brushing the hair off my forehead and cheeks. My eyes flutter open, and there’s Colby, leaning over me with a worried expression on his face.
“How are you feeling, lady?” he asks in the softest of voices. Did he just call me lady? I like the sound of that much better than woman. It sounds almost like a pet name. I must have imagined it.
“Now that you mention it, the room won’t stop spinning, my head aches, and I’m freezing,” I answer. My teeth give a little chatter to drive the point home. He goes to the closet and pulls out another blanket. He spreads it out on top of me before leaning over me again and tucking the blankets into my body just like my dad used to do when I was a little girl.
He straightens up and scrutinizes me for a second before saying, “I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep.” He leaves the room, and I try to stay awake. I really do. But the blankets are so soft, and I don’t have much control over my own body at the moment.
“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep yet,” he says, nudging me to wake me up again. I pop up and say, “I’m not asleep.”
He places his hand on my back and hands me a glass of water, and I start to chug it. My mouth feels dry and gritty, and the taste in my mouth is awful. The water helps a lot.
“Sips! Small sips! I don’t want you puking in random things in my house,” Colby says. Is he making a joke? I’d laugh, but I no longer have the energy. He takes the glass and places it on the nightstand beside me. He sits down next to me on the bed and feels my forehead again. I’m instantly aware of how good he looks. His hair is slightly disheveled from sleeping, and he has a line on his cheek from his pillow. He looks good when his hair is perfectly coiffed and he’s in his nicely pressed work clothes. But I think I prefer this version of him. The version that isn’t worrying about what people think.
I watch his face as he moves his hands to my neck, just beneath my ears, feeling for lymph nodes. His eyes are so blue, even in the dim light. And his eyelashes…they aren’t fair. I would pay a fortune for eyelashes like that, and he probably doesn’t even know that they’re to die for. The scruff on his jawline gives him a rugged appeal, and, oh boy, I think this fever is getting to my head. This is all just a weird fever dream. It’s addling my brain. I’ll wake up tomorrow, and whatever these feelings are will be gone.
He drops his hands to his lap and asks, “Do you want something for your headache and fever, or do you want to see how you do on your own?”
“I think I’m okay for now.” He has to get out of here. And I certainly can’t watch him walk back into this room, wearing those sweatpants. I’m delirious, and I might say something embarrassing that can’t be taken back.
He nods his head and leaves the room to go find his bed again. I cuddle down into the blanket and drift back to sleep, dreaming of running my fingers through Colby’s silky blond hair.
I wake in a warm cocoon of soft blankets with the sun beaming down on my face. Every muscle in my body feels tight, so I stretch my arms and legs out as far as they’ll go. The sound of soft snoring behind me startles me until the events of last night come swarming back to me.
Memories of rough hands on my face, a cool washcloth wiping sweat from my brow, a strong arm supporting my back while I sipped cool water, soft words whispered in my ear.
Colby.
I roll over on my side to face him. I hug a pillow to my chest as I watch him sleep in the chair beside my bed. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his head is hanging down. His feet are propped up on the bed, crossed at his ankles. I’m tempted to drag a finger up the bottom of his foot, but he looks so worn out. He took care of me last night. He has earned this sleep, despite how uncomfortable it looks.
I should probably get out of here. I’m five hundred percent certain my mom has already blown up my phone, wondering where I am. She might have put in a missing persons report on me by now. I should have just gone home last night, but that would have been worse than the third degree I can expect when I get home. She would have cried and fretted, called the doctor, Googled all my symptoms, and discovered that it’s surely terminal instead of a simple stomach flu.
I sit up and roll my neck a few times to work out the stiffness. My body is still a little sore and tired, but for the most part, I feel like a whole new woman. Although, I could really use a shower. I got disgustingly sweaty last night when my fever broke.
I look around the room for my clothes I had on last night. I can’t walk outside in Colby’s clothes. What would people think? And what would my parents say if I showed up at home wearing them? Their minds would immediately jump to relationship and then inevitably marriage. Madeline and Layla have already been filling their heads with nonsense and wishful thinking. I can’t let it go any further.
