I’m trying to put a brave face on it, because if I don’t, Casey will have me back in bed in a heartbeat and I can’t take time off with James breathing down my neck about every little thing.
But Casey has built a life on reading between the lines, seeing things that other people wouldn’t even notice—especially when it comes to me.
So as soon as he walks into the kitchen, his eyes narrow. He doesn’t ask before he presses a hand to my forehead, as if he expects me to be burning up. “You’re not warm, but you don’t look well.”
I push his hand away weakly. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long week.”
That’s not even a lie—even if the first part is.
“Stay home today.” The order snaps through his words, even though they’re delivered with softness.
“I said I’m fine.” He stares at me like he thinks I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. “Okay, so I’m not fine, but I can work.”
He crouches down in front of me, and I stare at the President patch on the front of his cut as his hand cups my knee. “Babe. You ain’t fine. You look like fuckin’ roadkill.”
“Who said romance is dead?” I mutter.
His hand moves to my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re still beautiful, but you need to rest.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. He always knows how to say the right things, even if those things are said gruffly.
“We have a big project completing today. James is up my ass about it. But, I promise, I’ll take tomorrow off if I still feel bad.” I give him a lopsided smile that feels watery. “See, I can compromise.”
He doesn’t laugh. His face remains hard, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “I don’t give a shit about projects, Lexi. I care that my wife is sitting here looking half-dead, trying to force herself to go into a job I also couldn’t care less about.”
I take his hands in mine, his palms rough and warm, familiar.
“I know,” I say, “but I care. This is my job. I don’t want to lose it.”
“You ain’t gonna lose it taking a day off sick.”
He doesn’t know about James’s campaign of assholery against me. I feel like I’m skating on thin ice, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.
He huffs. “You okay to be on the back of my bike?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure that’s true. We have breakfast together—or rather I have breakfast and he has his usual cup of coffee. It’s strong enough to strip paint. The smell of it has me holding my breath until he’s done.
The ride over to my office block feels like it takes a hundred years. My head is floaty, and halfway there I’m regretting not pushing for him to drive me in the car.
As soon as my helmet is off, he’s scanning my face, concern lining every inch of him.
So I do the only thing I can to distract him.
I fist my fingers into the edges of his cut, pull him to me, and kiss him like this is our last moment together. He sinks into me, letting his tongue find mine, even though we’re standing on a busy street.
I also wish I’d listened to him about taking time off. I am not a good martyr. And for the first hour I’m sitting at my desk, I regret every life choice I’ve ever made that brought me to this moment.
I don’t know why I feel so bad. Is it something I’ve caught from work? From the clubhouse? The latter is a petri dish of germs, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I’ve gotten something off one of the guys.
By mid-morning, I’ve pulled up my app and made an emergency appointment with my physician at lunchtime. I’m hoping she has drugs that will fix this.
I’m just closing my phone down when I feel him behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know James is at my back, but I do anyway. He’s giving me that look, the one he’s been giving me all week right before he tears me down.
“We’re giving the client presentation after lunch. I hope you’re ready.”
My smile is thin. “Of course. This isn’t the first presentation I’ve delivered.”
I don’t smooth the challenge in my words. Fuck him. He acts like I’m some idiot without a clue.
