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The late morning sun seeps through my bedroom window, but with it comes very little warmth. It’s cold out today, and I can hear the wind blowing hard against the glass. I stretch out my aching muscles, cough a couple of times when my chest burns, and then I crawl out of bed and quickly use the bathroom.
As much as I don’t want it to happen, my very first thoughts are of Reed.
I remember him tucking me into bed last night after my shower. He filled my hot water bottle, switched off the bedroom light, pulled the door closed behind him, and told me he’d lock up. But the drugs the doctor ordered must have worked because I fell asleep right away. I don’t even remember hearing him leave the apartment.
I attend to the necessities in the bathroom, checking my face in the mirror–ugh, what a mess. My nose is red raw, my cheeks are clammy, and I have bags under my watery eyes.
When I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way sluggishly into the kitchen. Boiling water to make some tea, I search around in my bare cupboards for some honey or anything I might own to help soothe my sore throat. My muscles are tired, and I still have a bit of a headache.
Honestly, I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.
While I’m waiting for the water to boil, I turn, lean against the kitchen counter, and I nearly jump clean out of my skin.
Holy mother of all that is holy.
I can’t believe my eyes.
Reed is stretched out on my couch, fast asleep.
His jean-clad legs are hanging over one end, black boots still on his feet, and one of his arms is touching the floor, his fingers curled up at an odd angle. His hair covers most of his face, but I notice a tiny bit of drool on the corner of his mouth, and I can’t help but feel my heart dip and swoon with how childlike he looks lying there like that.
He stayed the night? The entire night?
I glance around the living room, and through my foggy brain and wheezy chest, I notice there are four brown paper sacks overflowing with grocery items sitting in the middle of the dining table, as well as a huge white bag from the pharmacy that looks to be filled with all kinds of different syrups, drops, and medicines.
I lean back slightly, trying desperately not to make too much noise. I quietly open the refrigerator door behind me.
Holy shit.
A heavy sigh, followed by eyes that swiftly fill with hot, salty tears. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The shelves are stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables, and packets of meat, as well as cheese and bread and delicatessen items too. There are eggs and milk, cans of tuna, chocolate biscuits, and three different kinds of juice.
Oh, my. Reed did all this? When? How?
I glance back at the Goliath spread out on my couch. He looks terribly uncomfortable all twisted up like that, but I can’t help but stand there and stare at him.
He’s so damn good-looking.
His softly parted lips are a work of art, and his chiseled jawline is just plain ridiculous. It’s totally not fair how pretty his eyelashes are. Women pay a fortune to have eyelashes like his.
Reed’s skin is flawlessly smooth, and his five o’clock shadow looks incredibly soft. I wonder if he uses that beard oil I’ve heard so much about. Or maybe he’s just so genetically blessed that his hair is naturally soft?
“You gonna stand there ogling me all day, or make me a coffee?”
I startle, and then swiftly blush. Well, this is embarrassing. How long has he been aware that I was standing there staring at him?
“I… uh, I don’t have any coffee,” I say, lamely. My nose is stuffy and I sound like Kermit the Frog.
Reed’s eyes remain closed, but a small smile curls his lips. A thick finger pokes out from beneath the thin blanket he has pulled over him, and he points at the sacks of groceries on the table. “It’s instant. That’s all they had.”
“Reed, you didn’t have to –”
“I know I didn’t have to, but Iwantedto,” he says, slowly opening his eyes, sitting up with a grimace. He rubs his shoulder and I can tell it’s really sore. He must have been so uncomfortable last night. It’s absolutely freezing in the apartment and I feel terrible that he’s only got that threadbare blanket to keep himself warm.
“But, why?”
He yawns, stretches his arms behind his back, and cracks his neck from side to side. “Fucking shoulder’s killing me.”
“Reed, answer me.”
