Chapter 12
Groaning,I turn over in my bed, exhausted but less sticky than expected. My fever must have finally broken. I am surprisingly clean and… wearing different pajamas. I don’t remember changing, but I’m glad not to wake up a sweaty mess. I must have had more of a fever than I thought because I had some wild dreams. Dreams where rough hands soothed me, and kind eyes took care of me—crazy stuff.
Slapping around my bedside table, I don’t find my phone. I must have left it in my bag. As much as I want to stay wrapped up in bed, I have no clue what time it is or if anyone has been attempting to contact me. Willing myself to move, I get up and enter the living room. As I do, the door to my apartment opens, causing me to let out a yelp and grab the nearest object to defend myself.
“What are you doing up?” a concerned, familiar voice asks.
“You scared me!” I shout at Ralphie. My initial shock bleeds into confusion as I clutch my chest. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“I took the key from your purse when I went to grab coffee. The selection you have is abysmal. It’s all flavored garbage. Once your fever broke, I figured it was safe to leave you alone for a minute.”
“Hey! My coffee selection is fantastic. We can’t all survive on bitter bean juice the way you do. You didn’t answer my question. How did you get inside in the first place?”
“Madison let me in.”
“She did? Where is she?”
“She left after I got here last night.”
“Last night?!” I squeak.
“Yes. Who do you think has been taking care of you?”
I attempt to cover my eyes with my hands but end up hitting myself in the face with the picture frame I’m holding.
“That wasn’t a dream?”
“It was not,” he replies as his lips twitch. “Why are you holding that?”
“I thought there was an intruder!”
“And you were going to fend me off with a picture of you and your brother sitting on what I hope is a consenting Santa’s lap?” He’s broken out into a full grin now.
“What? Oh, that. Rob and I gifted my mom with recreated pictures of us from childhood for Mother’s Day a few years ago. I loved this one since I’ve never seen a Santa so flustered. I had to have a copy.”
“I don’t blame him. But back to my original question: why are you up? You should be resting. You were more out of it than I realized if you thought my presence was a dream.”
I flush as I process the knowledge that every sweet word and kind touch was Ralphie. I hate to admit it didn’t seem plausible. “It felt real at the moment, but reflecting on it this morning, it sounded far-fetched.”
“What did?”
“That you would be here taking care of me. I mean, why would you do that when I was vomiting everywhere? Oh my God! Did you see me throw up?” This time, I put the frame down before burying my face in my hands.
“None of that,” he tsks, walking over from the entry and pulling my hands away. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. The puking portion of the evening passed before I got here, but I wouldn’t have minded if you did. I don’t think you understand how gross a hockey locker room can be. Bodily fluids are everywhere.”
I know he means blood and guts, but the mental image in my head goes a different way. He must be able to read my mind because his eyes darken.
“None of that either. I don’t want to spank you while you”re sick, but I will if you don’t drop whatever image you conjured up in there,” he says, tapping my temple.
I roll my eyes but lean into his touch when he leaves his hand on my head. “You didn’t have to come take care of me. I’m sorry if Madison called you.”
“She didn’t call me. You should have, though.”
“She didn’t? Then how did you know? And why on earth would I have called you?”
“I knew because after you canceled and I didn’t hear from you, I got worried and dropped by. And you should have called me because I’m your man, and you needed someone to take care of you.”
“You would have wanted to be here while I puked my guts out?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replies instantly.
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine, Zlatí?ko. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”
With no idea how to respond to the conviction in his statement, I change the subject. “I probably shouldn’t have coffee after being sick.”
“I agree. That’s why I got you tea and oatmeal. I know you prefer berries, but bananas are better for an upset stomach.” Walking past me into the kitchen, he sets down our drinks and a white paper sack.
“You didn’t have to do all that. I could’ve made toast.”
He pins me with a glare but otherwise ignores my statement. “You ready to eat? You also need to drink some water with electrolytes.”
“Let me brush my teeth first. My mouth tastes how a trash can smells.”
Entering the bathroom, I gasp at my appearance. My typically tame hair is a wavy mess as if I went to bed with it wet, which I never do. My face is surprisingly makeup-free but also pale and missing my usual glow. I guess I skipped my skincare routine, too.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I grab the next product in my morning regime when Ralphie’s voice cuts through the door. “I hope you aren’t dolling yourself up in there. Your food is getting cold, and you’re beautiful as you are.”
I open the door to face him. “If you think this is beautiful, we need to seriously raise your expectations. I look horrendous. Did all the sweat go to my hair? I don’t understand why my body is clean, but my hair resembles Mia Thermopolis” before her makeover.”
“I don’t get that reference, but your body is clean because I showered you last night. It was the best way to lower your fever without medicating you. I washed your hair, too, but I wasn’t sure which of those million products you used on it after the shower.” Pink crawls up his neck, and his expression is almost sheepish. I’d admire how cute it was if I weren’t stunned.
“You washed my hair?”
“Yes.” He nods. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to. But your hair was sweaty, and a lot of temperature regulation goes through your head, so—oof.”
I fling myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around his middle. As I sniff back tears, he cups my face and tips my head up to search my face.
“I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me that way. Sure, I’ve showered with men before, but getting me clean was the last thing on their minds.”
When his nostrils flare, I giggle.
“You deserve to be taken care of, Zlatí?ko. But maybe don’t mention showering with other men again, yeah?”
“I can do that,” I murmur, nose back in his sternum.
“Come on. I need to feed you, and then we can curl up on the couch and watch those annoying housewomen.”