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“Sick,” she mutters, her voice hoarse and clearly sore.
Bringing my hand up, I press it against her forehead and feel she has a fever. “Shit, Gigi. You’re hot.”
“No,” she says, squeezing her eyes closed and I realize she most likely has a migraine to go with it. “Cold.”
“Have you had anything for it?” I ask her.
“Can’t get out of bed.”
Of course not.
I gently squeeze her leg before getting up and heading out to the kitchen. I rifle through her cupboards and drawers until I find a glass and some painkillers. After filling the glass with water, I head back down to her room and help her sit up. She’s so stubborn that I practically force the painkillers down her throat.
From the look of her and her apartment, it looks as though she’s been sick for a little while. “Where’s Mel?” I ask, a little annoyed with her friend for not looking after her better.
“She’s working a double. She doesn’t know I’m sick.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.
“Because,” she groans, her bottom lip pouting out. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Fuck, you’re stubborn,” I tell her, realizing just how much I like that about her. “Lay down and try to get some sleep.”
“Where are you going?” she questions, reaching for me but not having enough energy to sit up and take my hand before her arm flops back to the bed.
“None of your damn business,” I tell her as I head back out to the living room.
Making quick work of her home, I put the place back together. The blankets are folded and shoved back in the linen closet, and after twenty minutes, the dishes are done and Gigi’s home is sparkling, just the way she likes it.
Once I’m done, I make my way back down to her room to check on her and find her arms crossed over her perfect chest, the most stunning scowl stretched across her face. “Did you just do my dishes?”
“So, what if I did?” I tell her.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“Tough shit,” I tell her, glad to see the painkillers have started to kick in. “Let’s go.”
“What?” she sputters, her brows furrowing. “I appreciate you coming over here and helping me out, but I’m really not up for doing anything right now.”
I arch a brow, not taking no for an answer. “I told you that I was going to get you out of this apartment today, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
She raises a brow at me, the challenge clear in her eyes, but clearly she hasn’t worked out who she’s talking to. “And where do you think you’re taking me? I can barely sit up, let alone go for an outing.”
“My place.”
“Your place?” she asks slowly, the interest in her tone making it sound as though my place is a mystical land filled with treasure and secrets.
“My place,” I confirm. “Besides, I got Georgie this little doctor kit after she said she wants to be just like you. So, it will give her a chance to use it.”
Gigi’s whole face lights up at hearing about Georgie, and honestly, mine does too. Georgie is crazy about Gigi. Ever since the shooting, Georgie has formed an attachment to her, and I can’t blame the kid. So have I. “Fine,” Gigi grumbles as she throws the blankets back. “Can I at least shower first?”
“Nope, I just saw your shower,” I tell her. “It’s fucking tiny. I don’t know how you even fit in there. You can use mine.”
She rolls her eyes and tries to stand out of bed, only the movement makes her wobble and she has to reach out to the wall to balance herself. But I’m not having it. Stepping into her, I scoop her up into my arms, and as she folds in against my chest, I can’t deny how fucking right this is.
Gigi curls her arms around my neck to hold on, and as I start making my way out of her room, she lifts her head and gasps. “Oh shit. My phone.”
Turning back, I make my way to her bedside table, and she scoops up the phone before ordering me to her kitchen counter where she grabs her keys. Satisfied that she’s got what she needs, I lock up her apartment and quickly deposit her into my truck.
Climbing in beside her, I start the engine, watching as her head lolls against the window and her eyes close. All the movement probably isn’t great for her. She reaches forward and turns the hot air on full blast. “Are you doing alright?” I ask nervously. “You’re not going to hurl in my truck, are you?”
“Mmmm,” she replies.
“Is that a yes or a no?” I ask, pulling out into traffic.
Gigi shrugs her shoulders, those gorgeous eyes still closed. “I really couldn’t be sure to tell the truth.”
