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TWENTY-FIVE
Zed’shand moved over my back as I rested my head on the hopefully-clean toilet seat, panting. Tears always leaked from my eyes when I puked; it was annoying, but I was used to it. It wasn’t sad tears, or anything like that.
“Think I’m good,” I mumbled, my mouth burning with foulness.
He handed me a bottle of water to rinse my mouth with, and I swished it before spitting it out. My body was nestled in his, giving me every ounce of freedom I could’ve wanted, and holding me up at the same time. I’d never felt loved while I was vomiting, but Zed had changed that.
It seemed like he was changing a lot of things for me.
“Why the hell do werewolves need so much food?” I grumbled.
“How else are we going to maintain abs like these?” His fingers brushed my bare belly, and I snorted. It hurt a bit, but I didn’t care.
“Let me help you to bed, and then I’ll go grab you as many baked potatoes and salads as I can find.”
“Don’t forget the fruit,” I mumbled.
He chuckled. “I won’t.” His lips brushed my shoulder. “Ready?”
“No.”
He lifted me anyway, turning me so my chest met his. He carried me reverse-backpack style, my legs wrapped around his hips, but neither of us was horny. There had been too much vomit for that, and even without the vomit, I no longer felt sexy in the slightest.
Zed set me down on the bed, then helped me into a clean shirt and pair of his boxer-briefs. Tugging the sheets back, he slid my legs beneath the blankets to tuck me beneath them. He even fluffed my pillow, before tugging the blanket up to my neck.
“You don’t have to take care of me,” I mumbled to him, my eyes half-closed. “I get sick all the time.”
“Then it’s lucky for you that I like taking care of you, isn’t it?” he teased me softly, his lips curved upward slightly.
“It is. Very lucky.”
“Alright, I’ll be back soon. Get some rest.” His lips brushed my forehead. He tugged his dirty pants on, followed by his shirt, and then slipped out of the hotel room.
I was exhausted enough to doze a bit while he was gone, despite my intense hunger.
It feltlike he’d just left when he returned with an assload of baked potatoes, salads, and fruit. He also had a variety of food for himself, but he’d gone as far as to put it in a separate bag, to make sure it didn’t contaminate mine or something.
It was dorky, but chest-achingly sweet.
And I wasn’t too exhausted to feel like a man as good as him deserved a girl a hell of a lot nicer, and sexier, than me.
Or too tired to be glad that despite what he deserved, he wanted me.
We ate, and then crashed. We didn’t bother trying to cuddle—not our thing at bed time—and fell asleep together. Despite my illness, and the stressful few days, I fell asleep almost immediately.
The motel’salarm clock woke us up—I guess Zed had set it at some point. He told me to stay in bed, and slipped out to go meet the mechanic before I was awake enough to argue.
I took another shower, ignoring my growling stomach, and managed to get my brush through my hair after soaking it in every damn drop of conditioner that tiny motel-sized bottle held.
After my shower, I picked up our stuff, rummaging through the bag of snacks Zed had left. He had barely touched it after the drama the night before, but there wasn’t anything in it that I could really eat, so I left the stuff alone.
Sometimes, my stomach issues really pissed me off.
I was starting to feel a bit abandoned when the lock on the door turned, and Zed slipped back inside. He had another massive bag of food, and jiggled it toward me. “Ready to hit the road?”
I sprung to my feet, grabbing our bags. He promptly plucked them from my arms, tossing them over his shoulder and setting the bag of food in their place. “They fixed my baby?”
“Yep. She just needed a battery and some gas, and she was good to go.”
