15. Capri
15
CAPRI
“Just take the damn medicine, Capri.”
“Go away,” I tell Collie as she tries to shove pills down my throat.
“Not until you take the meds.”
I stare at her from my position on the bathroom floor. “Ever thrown up medicine before, Cols? Ten out of ten, do not recommend.”
Nothing like tasting bitter acid.
“Okay, drama. This is supposed to stop the vomiting. It’s either you take a chance on the pill and possibly throw it up or stay sick for the rest of our trip.”
I know she means well, but my head is throbbing and my stomach is churning. The thought of even swallowing water sounds like too much of an ask.
I rock back and forth with my head between my knees. “Fine. But if I puke up acid, I’m leaving it for you to clean up.”
She grins and hands me the capsule. “Deal.”
This sucks. There’s no nice way to put it. Food poisoning on vacation in Italy is in the top ten worst predicaments to be in. However, food poisoning on vacation in Italy while having the hottest sex of your life is the top five worst predicaments to be in.
I finally let myself be an Italian free bird and wind up with diarrhea of the mouth.
Everything hurts and my stomach wants to die.
I swallow the pill and lift myself to stand, ushering Collie to hand me my ‘just in case’ bowl.
“You should go lay down,” my know-it-all, beautiful sister tells me.
I turn and cut her a sharp look. “Gee, I never thought of that.”
She shrugs, laughing me off and heading back into the hotel kitchen.
I feel disgusting. I’m pretty sure I smell like sewer water. I haven’t brushed my teeth, and my hair looks like a dog took a shit and rolled in it.
Maybe I should shower? It might make me feel better.
Before I can make it to the bathroom, a knock echoes from the living area, pausing my steps.
I hear Collie’s voice in the distance, but I can’t quite make out the one on the receiving end.
I poke my head around the corner at the same time Collie calls, “She’s back here.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Sickness be damned, I haul myself into the bathroom and lock the door, bracing myself for embarrassment.
“Capri, you have a visitor!”
Panic invades. “I’m indisposed. Sorry! Tell them to check back later.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I saw the man who spent this past week buried inside of me, and I reacted.
He can’t see me like this.
Sick with food poisoning and vulnerability.
Nothing says ‘wanna fuck’ like vomit breath and a homeless aesthetic.
“Capri.” It’s him.
I scan the bathroom, realizing quickly it’s Collie’s bathroom I fled to, not mine. Nothing can save me from this now.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and come face-to-face with brown locks and eyes like cypress, filled to the brim with concern.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Jones sighs.
I can’t help it, I could cry. I’m the worst sick person ever. “Hi.”
There’s no use in trying to appear prettier than I look. I’m a hot case of dirty laundry and stank breath.
“What can I do for you?” Jones asks, not giving a damn if I get him sick and pulling me in for a hug.
“I’m okay. I’m pretty sure I’ve got nothing left to throw up,” I mumble, attempting not to breathe in his face.
His hand reaches to tuck a loose strand behind my ear and the intention of his caretaking is not lost on me. He’s so kind.
Fuck. Why do I feel a sob settling in my chest?
I can’t remember the last time someone thought of me this way. Genuinely caring about my well-being and wanting to do anything in their capacity to make sure I’m alright.
Yes, my family has always been there, but it’s practically their job.
Drew was my husband and argued if I had to stay home from work because I was sick. “We all have to do things we don’t want to, Capri. Tough it out. You’ll be fine.”
Fuck Drew.
Jones owes me nothing and he showed up for me.
“Let’s get you to bed.” He takes the bowl from my hands and leads me to my bedroom, pulling back the comforter for me to settle in.
“You really don’t have to do this, Jones. Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean I expect you to take care of me. I know what I signed myself up for.”
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or rude, but I’d never want him to feel obligated to care for me. Maybe it’s my self-sabotage and past of not expecting much, but I had to make sure he knows I recognize my place.
“Capri, look at me.” My eyes find his steady stare. “You think I don’t know that? But I’m not that guy. I won’t carry on with my day while you’re sick and suffering. Regardless of our label.”
“I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t expect it from you. I know I can be difficult when I’m sick.”
Jones rears back like I hurt him. “Who the fuck told you that?”
I tilt my head, and it’s the only answer he needs. “Right. Well, I know you don’t need me to remind you but I’m not some savage boy, searching for a clit and whining over lack of attention. I’m taking care of you because I want to. It’s as simple as that.”
Mother of pearl, he’s so hot when he gets all manly and righteous on me.
“Noted,” I say with a grin, suddenly snapping out of my self-deprecation.
Sharp pain shoots in my stomach, causing me to hunch over in agony. “Bucket, please.” Jones hands it to me and unties my hair before resecuring it in place. “Jones. I can’t puke in front of you. You should go.”
He ignores me. “Was it the seafood ravioli?”
Oh, god. Even the name of it makes me queasy. “Think so,” I mumble, hovering over the bowl.
“Jones, seriously.” I panic, the urge to rid my stomach from its misery not giving me a chance to avoid it.
A strong hand runs circles across my back as I heave through my mouth. “I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re okay,” Jones’ gentle voice calms me as I recover, wiping my lips and doing my best to keep the bowl away from him.
“This is embarrassing,” I murmur.
Without entertaining me, Jones grabs the bowl and walks it to the bathroom, disposing of my embarrassment and soaking it in the sink with some soap from the cabinet. I sit transfixed as he washes his hands and joins me again.
“You should get some rest. There’s a big bowl of chicken noodle soup for you on the stove.”
“You bought me soup?” I ask, feeling swept away by his thoughtfulness.
“I made it, actually. I’m not sure if it’s any good. I was limited on time, so I picked the first recipe I could find. Hopefully it doesn’t make you even more sick.” He chuckles, his demeanor holding a shyness to it.
For such a mature man, it’s cute to see him bashful.
“You made soup for me, Jones?” I blush.
He nods, and my arms wrap around his neck. “That’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. I hate that you’re so sick.” He laughs. “I knew we should have stuck with the pizza.”
“Eh, I’ll be good as new in the morning.”
His eyes lift from his lap to mine. “I hope so. You leave in two days.”
I’m not sure if it’s sadness, but he seems withdrawn.
“I do. We better make it count.”
Jones’ soft smile does nothing to ease my nerves. Nerves that cause my stomach to sink, and not because of the food poisoning.
He kisses me on the forehead and tucks me under the blanket. “Rest up. Soups warming on the stove. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
“Okay,” I whisper, watching him leave the room, leaving me stewing over these unfamiliar emotions.
I’m not supposed to fall for Jones. But why does it feel like saying goodbye is going to be harder than I thought?