“Because when I tried to move us to the bed last night, you were already half asleep and basically shoved me down on my back and I couldn’t move,” he laughs.
“Right. Sorry, I was a little loopy last night. Actually… I still feel kind of out of it.”
He pulls away from me slightly and I look at him over my shoulder. Something in his face changes from an early morning sleepy expression to one of concern.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“It’s like I rode ten roller coasters in a row and then chugged a jar of moonshine,” I try to explain. I’ve had hangovers before, but never this strong. And as far as I can remember, I only had one drink of champagne at the firm’s customer appreciation party. Okay, a few chugs. But still, in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t nearly enough to make me feel like shit the next day.
“I’m texting my sister,” Warren declares as he maneuvers around me to get up from the couch. His phone is sitting on the rustic log wood coffee table, and he swoops it up and unlocks the screen before I have a chance to protest. I hate the idea of ruining her morning just so that she can come over here and check on me.
But I don’t have the energy right now to object.
“There,” he says as he tosses the phone. “She should be here soon. Want some breakfast?”
“Sure,” I reply with a soft smile. Some food and then maybe a nap might help. Thank god it’s the weekend and I don’t have to go into the office.
A shower always makes me feel better, too. But I honestly don’t feel like standing for that long. Instead of a full morning routine, I settle for heading to the bathroom to at least brush my teeth and change into some real clothes.
When I picture a guest bathroom of a bunkhouse on a fully functioning ranch, it’s a lot messier than this one. Calculate in the fact that three grown men all live here, four at one point, you’d think it’d look more like a bathroom in a frat house than a girl’s apartment.
Based on the fruit-scented products on the shelf in the shower and the clean hand towel, it’s normally frequented by women. It only stings a little bit when I wonder if any girls who have stayed over with Warren in the past have used this bathroom just like I am right now.
I’ve had my fair share of hookups in the past too, so it shouldn’t make me feel territorial knowing that Warren has most likely shared a night or two with plenty of girls here previous to our arrangement. Things have felt more complicated and different between us lately though. I don’t hate it, in fact, I like how it feels. It’s still weird to admit to myself though, seeing as how we haven’t exactly talked about it. At first, the timeline of our fake dating depended on me keeping my job. Now I don’t know where the faking ends and the real feelings step in.
Of course, I look like I died overnight and rose from the dead standing in the bathroom that a dozen or more other girls have stood in while thinking about this. I toss my hairbrush back into the bag that I brought in here with me and then try wiping the last bit of sleep from my eyes.
By the time I make it back into the kitchen twenty minutes later, it smells like bacon and Blythe is sitting at one of the bar stools at the large island. I drag my feet, take a seat next to her, and rest my elbows in front of me on the stained butcher block counter.
“You seem bright and chipper this morning,” Blythe says between sips. There’s a tiny tag attached to a white string hanging out of the side of her steaming mug.
“It’s a good thing you’re a doctor and not a lawyer because that’s a load of bullshit and I don’t buy it for second,” I tease with a sigh.
“Fine, you look like ass.”
“Under the weather would have sufficed,” I laugh while self-consciously running a hand over my clammy forehead.
Blythe gently pushes my hand away and feels the temperature of my skin for herself, then purses her lips. From where he’s standing by the stovetop, Warren looks over his shoulder and watches as she checks me over.
“This isn’t necessary, I’m sorry that he made you come over here,” I say.
“Shush, you know I don’t mind. What kind of symptoms have you been feeling?”
“Umm . . . just random nausea. One minute I’m fine, and then the next I’m dizzy and feeling awful. Last time it went away quickly, but this time it lasted a lot longer.”
“That’s unusual. Possibly Norovirus, but it’s not typically sporadic like you’re describing.”
“An English explanation would be good,” Warren scoffs.
“Stomach bug,” she clarifies with a laugh.
“Doesn’t that only last a few days though?” I ask.
“Usually, yes. But in some cases it can hang around for up to 10 days,” Blythe explains. “Haveyoubeen sick, Warren? It’s pretty contagious. Other than lovesick, I mean.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks, but Warren just smirks.
“No, I feel fine,” he says.
