Chapter 17
17
Present Day
P uking is the worst.
I’d rather get stung by a dozen bees—granted, I’m not allergic—than vomit.
“Why me?” I groan into the office trash can.
Nausea churns in my stomach as sweat drips from my forehead. After rushing to my bathroom to vomit this morning, I thought this stomach bug would pass, and I’d be okay to work.
Wrong.
Last night, after taking Brielle home, I thought about calling Adrian but chickened out. Maybe my heart is mad at me for that and is taking it out on my stomach today.
I almost fall out of my chair and over the trash can when the door chimes. Out of all the times for someone to come here, it would be when I’m puking. It doesn’t help that I’m at the reception desk, so there’s no hiding from them.
I rest my head on my arm, too weak to raise it to see who’s here.
“Yikes. You don’t look so good.”
My breathing falters when Adrian kneels in front of me.
I’d do anything to melt into this trash can.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” I grumble.
Dizziness washes through me, and I grip the desk to lift myself. I stop when another wave of nausea hits me. Adrian hurriedly clasps my hair in his hand, holding it back while I vomit again.
“Come on,” he says when I finish, his voice gentle. “I’ll drive you home.”
I shake my head but allow him to help me up. Even when I’m balanced, he doesn’t release me.
“You need to rest, Essie,” he adds. “You can’t work if you’re vomiting all over your paperwork.”
I bow my head, swallowing leftover vomit. “Hard pass on you knowing where I live.” My response is rude, but I’d rather he leave me in my misery than see me sick.
“Either I sit here with you or take you home.”
I somehow gain the strength to raise my chin and glare at him. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to finish last night’s conversation, but now, I want to get you home to rest. Now, come on. It’s pointless to stay here, miserable, and you won’t get any work done anyway.” He cradles my arm and walks me outside to his car.
His car smells like fresh oranges and his cologne.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t create more nausea.
It actually puts my stomach more at ease.
“Don’t save that,” I say after rambling off my address and watching him key it into his car’s GPS.
Adrian’s body brushes mine when he leans across me to buckle my seat belt. “You sure don’t have good manners toward someone helping you.”
“Your help has ulterior motives.”
He snorts while buckling himself. “And what are my ulterior motives, Essie?”
I chew on my bottom lip .
Adrian shifts the car into drive. “I’ve never had ulterior motives with you. All I’ve ever wanted to do was help.”
I slap a hand over my mouth, and Adrian brakes when I tap the console. He swerves to the road’s shoulder. I throw open the door and vomit.
A kid on the sidewalk brakes on his bike and yells, “Ew!” before riding off.
Adrian opens the glove compartment, drags out a handful of napkins, and hands me one.
“Thank you,” I whisper, wiping my face.
When I’m sure I’m all puked out, I fall back into the seat. Adrian holds out a bottle of water for me.
“Thank you,” I say again. I swish the water in my mouth and spit it outside. Very ladylike, thank you very much. I do it two more times until my mouth feels as clean as it’ll get.
Adrian silently waits until I shut the door and sag into the seat.
“You good?” He rests his hand on my thigh.
I nod and don’t push him away.
We don’t say another word as he drives.
“This is your house?” Adrian asks when we arrive at the gate.
You wouldn’t think a Tuscan-inspired-slash-modern home would be aesthetically pleasing, but my parents somehow did that. They took each other’s styles and made them work together. There are stone walls that match the walkway as it leads up to the front door and more windows than I can count.
It’s on the outskirts of town, sitting on fifteen acres, and the landscaping is made up of bright colors and century-old trees.
“Technically, it’s my parents’,” I say.
“I never took you as someone who would still live at home.”
“River and I each have a cottage in the back.” I open the door and peer at Adrian over my shoulder.
Adrian steps out of the car. Since I’m moving at a snail’s pace, he’s at my door and ready to help me before I even stand. My body hurts, and I’m lightheaded, so I don’t pull away when he helps me toward the walkway that leads to the pool.
I wave at the pool cleaner while unlocking the door, and Adrian follows me inside. I’m still in his hold as I turn to face him, slipping him a guarded look. No matter how much Adrian has helped, there will always be a sense of distrust with him now.
But I do appreciate him driving me home.
“Thank you,” I whisper again.
He cups my face in his palm. “You never have to thank me for helping you.”
This right here reminds me of our first night in his dorm room.
I search for words so I don’t get lost in his eyes. “I need to brush my teeth. Like bad .”
“You go do that.” He chuckles and slowly releases me.
I go into the bathroom, shut the door, and brush my teeth four times. The taste of mint lingers in my mouth when I step out.
I stop when I find Adrian in the kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cabinet. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.” He smiles and fills the cup with water.
“What if I’m contagious?” I sit down on the couch.
“Then, you’ll have to come over and take care of me, huh?” He hands me the water, then grabs a throw blanket and drapes it over me.
“Seriously? This is so unnecessary. I can take care of myself.” I take a sip of water.
“It sure looked like you needed help.”
“I’ll call a friend, my parents, River.”
“Your place is very you.” He sits down on a chair and looks around. “I like it.”
I yawn, which I learn is contagious since his starts right as mine ends.
He sticks a pillow under his arm and makes himself comfortable. “I’d also like to add that since I’ve already been exposed to your sickness, it’s better if you’re only around me. Don’t want to get anyone else sick, do we?”
“It’s a stomach bug.”
“You have a law degree. Not a medical one.”
“Suit yourself.” I yawn again, this one longer, and wrap the blanket tighter around my body. “Pretty sure I’m about to crash out and will make for poor company.”
“You never make for poor company, Essie. In fact, you’ve always been my favorite company.”
As much as I want to argue, my eyes are too heavy.
Right before they shut, I catch Adrian watching me intently.