Page 68 of Pretend With Me


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“You fed them?”

“I didn’t think you’d be up to it.”

I decided following his orders was the best gesture of gratitude I could show him — and the only one I could muster up right now — so I lay down, tucking the covers in around me to keep the chills away.

“Thank you, Holden.” I managed a small laugh. “Another thank-you to add to the list.”

“Just rest.” His quiet command was strangely comforting.

I shut my eyes, planning to just rest them until he came back, but the pull of sleep tugged me back under.

I dreamed I was on a yacht with Max and Richard. The sun was shining, casting brilliant diamonds onto the clear water, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I was tucked into the warm side of a man, and dream-Sutton was happy and cozy, like being tucked up against this man was the most natural thing in the world. I turned to smile up at him and my eyes met Holden’s blue ones, his smile making little crinkles appear at their corners. Dream-Sutton wasn’t surprised to discover that the arm draped across her shoulders belonged to Holden. It just felt right — so right — and I knew there was no place else I would rather be than beside him.

27

The next time I opened my eyes, the room was so dark that it was disorienting. I inched upward, trying to prevent the room from spinning and keep what little was left in my stomach from making an appearance. Once I was upright, I paused for a second just to be safe, blinking until my eyes adjusted to the light. I glanced at my nightstand but didn’t see my phone. It was probably somewhere in the bed. I didn’t bother looking for it. Time didn’t matter right now.

I scooted to the edge of the bed, letting my feet dangle over the side, while I took inventory of my body. My head felt much better, and the shivering had stopped. The unhappy rumbles from my stomach could be from either hunger or sickness, but I didn’t feel like more barf was imminent. My mouth was a different story. It was so dry that my tongue kept getting stuck to the roof of my mouth, and it was almost hard to swallow. Finally feeling like it was safe, I stood, grabbed the empty cup from beside the bed, and dragged my corpse in the direction of the kitchen for a refill.

I turned the corner and came to a sudden stop, my hands flying to my mouth to silence the gasp. Holden was lying flat on his back, one arm propped behind his head, a throw blanket just reaching his belly button, sound asleep on my couch.

I stood there watching him sleep like a total creeper for longer than I was willing to admit. He looked younger — somehow softer — when he was asleep. Those light brown eyelashes fanned across his tanned cheeks, somehow making him look younger and more relaxed. The arm propping his head displayed his biceps in a way that had my stomach dancing — andnotbecause I needed to barf.

“Are you planning on standing there much longer?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. My ovaries perked up at the sound, letting me know that some parts of my body were still healthy and functioning well. His eyes were still closed, and I wouldn’t have known he was awake if he hadn’t spoken.

“I was trying to decide if I could make it to the kitchen without waking you up.” I held up the empty water glass as if he could somehow see it through his eyelids. “I wasn’t expecting to find you asleep out here. Not that I mind!” I rushed to add. “I just figured you would have gone home, and it was so quiet.”

I had to force my lips closed before more words could come pouring out.

Holden stretched his arms over his head, letting out a yawn. Either my fever was spiking again or I really was a creep. I turned away quickly — tooquickly; I had to brace a hand on the wall to keep from toppling over.

“I was worried about leaving you alone. Your fever was pretty high.” I heard the rough sound of his palm sliding across the stubble lining that strong jaw that I had just been staring at, and I almost started panting.

I held the cup under the faucet, hitting the handle and wondering how weird it would be if I stuck my head under the stream of cool water. I could always blame it on the fever. People did weird things when they had a fever.

“I don’t have a thermometer,” I pointed out, despite the fact that I had just spent an entire day alternating between shivering uncontrollably and sweating profusely.

“I noticed. You do now.” I watched as he sat up and turned to watch me. I chugged the glass of water, then turned back to the sink for a refill. “You might want to slow down on the water. Make sure your stomach can handle it.”

“I know, but it tastes so good,” I whined, taking a big gulp. “And I think I might actually be hungry, so that’s a good sign.”

He stood and walked to me, swiping something off the coffee table as he went.

“Let me check your temperature.”

The closer he got, the more aware I became of my appearance. I was still wearing that tattered, oversized sleep shirt, which now had a sweat stain under one boob. It would be a disservice to rats to suggest that the tangled mess dangling from the top of my head was a rats’ nest. Worst of all, I hadn’t brushed my teeth all day, and my breath probably smelled like barf.

Meanwhile, Holden was standing in my kitchen peering down at me, looking like Adonis stepping down from Mount Olympus despite having slept on a couch that was too small to fit him. I focused my gaze at a spot on his throat — the one just below his chin that I wanted to nuzzle into — while he held the thermometer just above my forehead until it beeped. He turned it around so I could see the green screen with a smiley face on it.

“Ninety-eight point five. Perfect,” he announced, looking relieved.

I prayed he wouldn’t insist on checking my pulse next. Considering the rapid flutter in my chest, I would definitely earn a trip to the emergency department if he did.

“See! Just needed some sleep,” I declared triumphantly, sounding more than a little breathless.

“You’re sick, Sutton, just accept it.” Holden sighed, looking like he needed some sleep too.

“Why don’t you head home and get some rest? There’s no way you’re comfortable on that couch. You’re about three feet too tall for it.” I hoped he read the concern in my voice and didn’t think I was trying to get rid of him. The exact opposite was true: I wanted him to stay. His presence was comforting, and I liked having him here.

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