Chapter 23
Garrison’s sleepingin my bed.
Garrison Beckett is sleeping in my bed for the first time, and he isn’t naked. Not completely, anyway. As I stand at the edge of the mattress, my knees pressing into the memory foam, I stare at the strands of matted, dark brown hair peeking out from the edge of the comforter, something aching behind my ribs.
It took far too much convincing to get him to allow me to tuck him in and lay the cold cloth on his forehead once we got here. He fought me tooth and nail from the moment I helped him out of my car and into the bedroom, stating he could handle himself. I don’t doubt that he can. I’m sure he’s done it every day for a long time now. But it still makes me upset to think he doesn’t know how to take help from anyone in a circumstance where he shouldn’t have to do things on his own.
The only time I’ve never had someone around to check on me while I was sick was when I was on vacation alone. Every other time, I’ve been cared for, looked after. Whether it was my parents, Darren, or Bryce, I’ve never been alone at home while I was feeling the way Garrison is right now. I know how blessed I am for that, in this moment more than ever.
My next exhale is heavy. The man in my bed groans painfully in his sleep, pushing me into motion. I leave him to get a collection of sick meds from the bathroom, rushing to keep from staying away too long just in case he needs me.
By the time I have everything I need, my arms are full. Pill bottles and cough syrups fill the space between my forearms and chest as I bundle everything together and head back to the bedroom. Garrison hasn’t moved an inch, still frozen beneath the comforter.
I drop everything on the empty side of the bed and sort through it. Once his morning meds are separated from the nighttime ones and I have small plastic cups ready for various cough syrups if he needs something stronger, I go hunting for cold liquids. I take two water bottles and a Gatorade that I think Darren left a couple of weeks back from the fridge and then set them on the nightstand.
God, I’m fussing right now. Garrison being asleep and not watching me is a blessing. He’d have something to say about all my caring, that’s for sure. Asshole.
Pushing a hand over my hair, I heave a breath. It so goes against the friends-with-benefits rules to have brought him here. The only time I should be playing nurse is when I’m wearing a sexy little costume that he’s planning on tearing right off.
I check my phone before waking him up to feed him medicine and find a series of texts from both Bryce and Anna. The time at the top of my screen has me cursing.
Ice Ice Baby: On your way? I ordered your usual.
Ice Ice Baby: Are you still getting ready?
Ice Ice Baby: I thought we talked about you leaving BEFORE your supposed to be somewhere.
Anna Banana: Brycy is icy right now. Where are you?
Ice Ice Baby: If you answer Anna and not me, I’ll bring this croissant to your place (btw it’s your fav kind) and eat it in front of you.
Anna Banana: Johnny told me you took Garrison home?
Ice Ice Baby: No way. I’m OMW.
Anna Banana: She is not on her way. Text us later. Love you and try not to poison him. My boyfriend would be pretty upset if he lost his job.
The last message was from twenty minutes ago. A half hour past when we were supposed to meet for lunch.
I tap my fingers quickly, sending off two texts, one to Bryce and another to Anna, before pocketing my phone.
Me: Call you tonight. I’m sorry for missing lunch xoxo
Me: Thank you for that. Call later. Nobody is losing their job xoxo
Sunlight shines through the cracks in my open blinds, so I slant them shut before tugging the blackout curtains together. I collect a few pills and a bottle of water before rounding the bed and crouching, taking the now warm cloth from Garrison’s forehead. Chunks of hair droop over the damp skin, but I sweep them away with my knuckle, fighting alarm at his temperature as I drop the cloth to the nightstand.
“Hey, you need to take medicine,” I whisper, stroking down the side of his face, over the lines beside his eyes and the dark bags beneath them.
He’s so handsome that I’m positive his relationship status reads as single only because he wants it to. There’s no way, even with his oftentimes harsh demeanour, that women don’t flock to him. He’s rich and good-looking. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.
I like to think that not many know about his protectiveness, humour, or passion. I’d prefer to gatekeep those qualities for a while.
He makes a deep noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t open his eyes. The pillow beneath his head is damp, a deeper purple in a few spots as opposed to the soft lilac it should be. His stubble scratches at the material when he turns his head and rubs his cheek all over it. My stomach flutters at how unintimidating he looks like this. How almost peaceful he appears, even if he is sick.
“Just let me give you your medicine and take your temperature. Then you can go back to sleep.” I let my finger trail lower, over the dip of his cheekbone and swell of his upper lip.
His mouth opens, and I freeze for a heartbeat before removing my finger. “You shouldn’t be this close to me. I’ll get you sick.”
The garbled words sound worse than they did before he fell asleep. All of the talking isn’t helping. The way he winces before his throat bobs worries me.
“Don’t speak. Just listen to me,” I scold lightly, offering the two yellow pills toward him.
“It isn’t poison, right?” he groans, dragging his arm from beneath the blanket to take the pills between his fingers. I help him sit up enough to drink and then hand him the water bottle, lid already off. He pops the pills before taking a long swig.
“You’re the second person to question whether or not I’m going to try poisoning you. I’d never choose something so obvious if I truly wanted to off you.”
“What would you choose?” he asks, handing me back the water.
I scowl at how full it still is, but he’s already tucking his arm back in before I get a chance to demand he drink some more. Hot tea is probably a better option.
Taking his temperature is my next task, so I gently pull the comforter down his chest until I can lift his arm and tuck the thermometer in his pit.
“We’re not going to talk about my murder preferences right now. You’re not supposed to be speaking at all.”
“If I stopped speaking every time someone wanted me to, I wouldn’t be a CEO,” he croaks.
“I do imagine that means you have quite a few enemies at your office.”
“More than a few.”
“You’re the hard-ass boss, right? The guy everyone fears disappointing but loves to impress?”
“That’s what makes me good at my job.”
I shrug a shoulder, pulling the thermometer out of his armpit when it beeps. The number on the tiny screen isn’t terrifying, but it isn’t good either. We need to lower his temperature.
“Do you have any friends back home, or are you too busy for those?” I ask, setting the thermometer on the nightstand and grabbing the damp face cloth.
He watches me as I move, his eyes so glazed that he looks drunk. It’s hard to tell if the flash of emotion that flicks through them is sadness or exhaustion.
“Nathan is my closest friend and Swift Edge’s vice-president,” he says weakly.
“Mixing work with friendship can be a slippery slope.”
“Not for me.”
“Of course not. The Garrison Beckett doesn’t share the same problems us mere mortals have.” The teasing note in my voice is obvious, but when he frowns, I get hit with a gut punch of guilt.
“I don’t think I’m above you in any way, Poppy,” he admits sheepishly.
I try to fight a smile and fail. Dropping my eyes to the bed, I tighten my grip on the cloth in my hand. “Good. Because while you may have way more money than me and wear expensive clothes that I’m sure cost more than my entire house, I know what I’m worth. And there isn’t enough fortune in the entire world to touch it.”
“I know.”
I look up, and our eyes meet. Garrison breathes steadily, one slow inhale and then an exhale, but I can’t seem to get enough air in to reciprocate his apparent ease.
He doesn’t look at me like someone does a friend. With or without benefits. His stare is serious, alive. It doesn’t matter how tired I know he is or how much pain he’s in. I’m not so out of practice with men that I don’t recognize when one’s staring at you like they want to pull you close and keep you there, tucked in their arms.
Yet I can’t get myself to stand and leave. Not when that’s the last thing I want to do. It would be stupid to curl up beside him in bed and let our desires run their course. He may appear lucid, both his words and eyes telling me just how clear his mind is right now, but I can’t fall into the trap of allowing myself this right now.
Messy. Naive. Risky.
We’re three weeks into his eight here. And once we hit the end, he’s gone. Forever.
The reminder is a rush of cold water through my veins. I drop his gaze and force myself up and off the bed. My skin feels hot, like I’m the one with the fever, as he keeps his gaze fixed on me, watching every emotion I let show.
“I’m going to run you a lukewarm bath. We need to drop your temperature,” I ramble before tucking tail and running to the bathroom.
I leave the lights off in the small bathroom and turn the bathroom tap ice-cold. Sticking my fingers beneath the water, I let them go numb. In for three, out for three. Breathe and move on, Poppy. I took him home to take care of him, and I’m going to do the damn thing whether or not I’d prefer cuddling him for the upcoming few days instead.
A beyond-frustrated groan escapes me. Work. The studio is open tonight and Friday. Both Bryce and Anna have extra keys, but only Bryce knows enough to run a class, and even then, I wouldn’t choose that option if I had a way to avoid it. Garrison may be better by Friday, but there’s no way I’m going to leave him here alone tonight.
Adjusting the tap so warm water mixes with the cold, I plop the cloth into the tub. I dry my frozen fingers on a hand towel and then slide my phone out of my back pocket to send off another series of texts to Bryce, begging her to take over class for me tonight. It’s unfair to ask this of her, but if she doesn’t want to, she’ll tell me that. Bryce is straightforward, not one to waste her energy beating around the bush.
I blink at myself in the vanity mirror, noting how messy my high ponytail has become with frizzy baby hairs sticking out everywhere possible. The lack of makeup is disconcerting. I’m not the sick one, but I could probably pass for it right now.
Garrison can consider us even now that we’ve both seen each other looking less than our best.
My phone buzzes with Bryce’s response, and my shoulders slump forward with relief.
Ice Ice Baby: He better be worth your time. But yeah, I’ll take care of BB today. Obviously.
I reply with a string of thank yous and too many heart emojis before tucking my phone. Every step back to the bedroom sounds like a stomp, no matter how light I keep them.
The lump in my bed moves as Garrison shifts further into the centre of it, his head nearly falling in the dip between my two pitiful excuses for pillows.
“Come with me,” I murmur, coming to the side of the bed.
Leaning over the mattress, I extend my arm across the empty space to pull the comforter away from his body. His fingers clasp around my wrist, seizing my movements. A water droplet falls from my wrist to the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t so much as blink at it. He’s too focused on me.
“If there is anyone who is above anyone, Poppy, you’re above me. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.” The words are tight but not forced. Honesty burns through each one.
I doubt many people have ever heard him apologize, let alone in a state like this. Exposed and vulnerable.
“How about we agree to be equals? You can be the rich one, and I can be the funny one,” I offer, pushing my hand forward, his fingers still curled around it.
After a moment, he lets me pull him out of bed, a soft sigh slipping through his parted lips.
“I like that. For now,” he whispers, swaying on his feet as I wrap my arm around him and guide him through the room.
The bathroom light is too bright, and I wince, knowing that it’s probably making his headache worse. He doesn’t complain, though. Doesn’t so much as say a peep while I strip him of his briefs and guide him into the tub. I turn the tap off, and he sighs, tipping his back against the wall and shutting his eyes.
“I know you want to sleep, but just . . . just let me take care of you. Please,” I say, rubbing the hot skin of his shoulder. “Can you scoot forward for me? I want to wash your hair. You’ll feel better once you’re not so sweaty.”
I don’t mention that until his fever breaks, he’ll only get all sweaty again regardless of whether I wash him right now or not. I’m too selfish to risk him telling me not to bother.
“Okay,” he agrees.
I help him lean forward in the tub before standing to grab the detachable shower head and turning it on. The water is the same lukewarm temperature as the bath. He tips his head back and lets me wet his hair.
Peeking an eye open, he watches while I turn off the tap, squirt my favourite shampoo into my hands, and lather it up before sinking my fingers into his hair. His shoulders slouch forward as I massage his scalp, the strands of hair thicker than I expected.
“That feels good,” he whispers.
“Do you like the smell?”
“Mmhmm, smells like you.”
“It’s my favourite. I have to order it along with my favourite lotion from a shop online every couple of weeks whenever I run out.”
“What else do you like, Poppy?”
My stomach flutters as I turn the shower head back on and rinse out the shampoo. “Pink starbursts, a man in cowboy boots, and travelling. I love the sun and getting a tan somewhere where the pressures of everyday life don’t exist. Especially during the winter.”
“You’re a snowbird that loves chewy candy.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Turning off the water, I squirt a palmful of conditioner into my hand and rub it through his clean hair. “What do you like, Garrison?”
“This.”
“Something else,” I coax.
“Reading. Science fiction or business guides.”
“Reading is a sexy hobby,” I say, my lips twitching.
With the conditioner now in, I swish my hands in the water before grabbing my body wash and snatching the cloth floating over his thigh. With the cloth soapy, I hand it to him. He shakes his head, so I go ahead with washing him.
“You don’t have to lie,” he mumbles.
“I’m not.”
The heat from his skin is apparent through the cloth as I bring it all over his body, enjoying rubbing my scent into every nook and cranny.
“We’d have fun together somewhere tropical. On a beach somewhere. You’d read, and I’d catch a nap in the sun,” I say, knowing exactly how stupid it is to make these plans when they’re never going to happen.
Turning his head, Garrison meets my gaze and doesn’t look away. My hand stills over his chest, the cloth squeezed tight in my hand. The corner of his mouth lifts into a loopy smile, and I return it before dunking the cloth into the water and beginning to rinse off the soap from his body.
“Almost done,” I tell him.
He nods and looks away again, resting his eyes while I finish up. It’s not even five minutes later that I’m helping him out of the bath and handing him a fluffy purple gown. Taking it from my hands, he starts drying himself off while I quickly slip out of the room to grab him a pair of my brother’s shorts.
“These should work for now. I can stop by the ranch and grab you something else tomorrow if you want,” I offer once I’m done helping him step into the shorts.
“Thank you,” he murmurs as I guide him to the bedroom and back into bed.
“Don’t mention it.”
With a soft smile, I have him tucked beneath the comforter with the pillow flipped to the fresh side. He nuzzles into it again, a low noise escaping him.
I go to pull back, but he slides his fingers around my wrist. He tugs on it, eyes closed. “Get in bed with me, honey.”
My brows shoot up. “I thought you didn’t want me close enough to get sick.”
“I’m a selfish man. I no longer care about that. Not if it means I can sleep with you right now.”
“You only want this because you’re sick.”
“Maybe. I’ll worry about that later.”
I rock forward on my toes, wanting to slide into bed and curl myself around him. “If you’re a jerk to me about this when you get better, I will kick your ass.”
“And I’ll let you,” he whispers, shoving the blanket down his chest.
“Get in. Please,” he adds, begging.
I blow out a breath, rolling my shoulders back. I’m not dressed to lie in bed with a man who’s radiating heat like a furnace in my jeans. Moving quickly and clumsily, I pop the button of the denim open and wiggle them down my hips. With every inch they fall, I look at Garrison, expecting to see him stealing glances at my nakedness, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Once the jeans are at my ankles, I toss them aside and leave my shirt on before finally crawling into bed.
“Only because you asked so nicely,” I say, hoping I don’t regret this.
It’s hard to imagine that I could. I hardly make it onto my back before he’s pulling me toward him until I’m half-sprawled on his chest. My leg finds a home across his lap as I nuzzle my cheek into the hot skin of his pec, drawing in a lungful of his natural scent now mixed with mine.
Our height difference makes cuddling a bit more difficult than usual, especially when I stretch my leg and shift my knee over his dick, yanking a groan from him.
“Stop groaning. You’re not getting any until you’re better,” I warn.
He laughs deeply, with more rasp than usual. “Thank you.”
I hum, burying my nose in his chest, the light peppering of dark hair there tickling my nostrils. Setting my palm on his flat stomach, I ask, “For what? Threatening you?”
“For a lot more than that. Too much to explain right now.”
“Later, then,” I breathe.
“Later.”