“You’re not walking home. We’re both sick. We can commiserate together.” I carried her to my room and set her on the bed. “I’ve got a fever, and I can’t drive you home, and you just had anExorcist-worthy puking experience, and you’re not going anywhere.”
“Clark, I don’t have the energy to laugh or to fight you right now,” she said, her eyes barely staying open as she pulled her legs up and hugged them to her chest. “My stomach is cramping.”
“I know it is, but I promise it’ll pass soon.” I climbed onto the bed facing her and stroked her hair. “Just breathe through it.”
“I cannot believe we’re lying in your bed, and we’re both sick. This is not how I imagined this going,” she whispered, before moaning and hugging her legs tighter.
“So you have been imagining it,” I said, as her arms released her legs, and she relaxed. My free hand found hers, and our fingers intertwined.
“Yes, Clark. I’ve imagined it,” she whispered.
I pulled her close to me and wrapped my arms around her.
“Me, too, Weeze.”
Her breathing slowed, and her warm cheek rested against my chest.
And sleep took us both.
fourteen
. . .
Eloise
I blinked my eyes open,startling when I glanced around, remembering that I wasn’t in my bed.
The spot beside me was empty, but the covers were rumpled where he’d slept.
I lifted the covers to see that I was fully dressed, and memories of my head hanging over the toilet flashed in my mind.
I’d woken up in the middle of the night and vomited several more times.
Clark had gotten up with me, holding my hair up and comforting me.
And he stayed beside me through the vomiting and slept beside me the entire night.
He probably ran off this morning as flashbacks of me heaving all night had horrified him.
I covered my eyes with my hand and groaned. I’ve crossed so many professional lines at this point, yet we still hadn’t kissed.
And that certainly wasn’t going to happen now that he’s seen me with my head in a toilet.
I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, as the wood floors creaked with each step. I tried to frantically pat my hair in place, tucking it behind my ears and brushing a hand over my black tank top.
I was grateful he had a spare toothbrush that I used in the middle of the night, and at least my breath smelled minty this morning.
He strode through the doorway with a pair of navy basketball shorts slung low on his hips, his muscled chest on full display.
“Good morning, Weeze. How are you feeling?” He walked to the side of the bed where I was lying and set down a glass of blue Gatorade and two pieces of toast.
I reached for the glass and took a long sip as my mouth was unusually dry.
I set it back down on the nightstand and glanced over at him as he sat down on the bed beside me.
“I feel a little horrified, but otherwise okay, I guess. I don’t feel nauseous anymore, and the cramps are gone.”
His lips turned up in the corners, as his back rested against the dark rustic wood headboard. “I mean, you were bragging about how you never get sick right before you projectile vomited like someone was extracting the devil from your body, so I’m sure it’s a little horrifying.”
