13. Jules
Jules
H e shouldn’t be so handsome sitting there with a sick baby snuggled against his bare chest.
But he is.
His broad shoulders fill the chairback, and he’s sprawled like he needs to take up as much space as possible. I give in to the temptation to study him.
He’s muscular, but not in the bodybuilder kind of way. His chest has a smattering of hair, and a scar blemishes one shoulder just above the collarbone. With his broad shoulders and big arms, he exudes strength. I imagine him tossing me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and repress a shiver.
I should be ashamed of myself. He’s being vulnerable, admitting that he feels guilty for leaving his little sister, while he is caring for said sister’s baby, and here I am reducing him to a sex object.
Whatever opinion I’ve held for him in the past has slowly ebbed away as I take in the man before me. This man panics at the slightest threat to Charlie’s well-being, and he bought her pink hair bows, for crying out loud .
“You wanna know what I think?” I ask, leaning into the couch and getting comfortable. I draw my legs up and don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on the hem of my sleep shorts. He’s watching me like a starved man might gaze upon food.
Okay, that’s a little much, Jules. He’s a dude with a decent pair of legs on display before him.
He clears his throat and looks down at the sleeping toddler in his arms.
“Yeah,” he mutters as he presses a kiss to her chubby little cheek.
It’s adorable the way he looks at Charlie. He’s wearing his heart on his sleeve, and he doesn’t even know it. It’s incredibly attractive, and I’m not even a “daddy” chaser.
“I think you’re a good person who did what he had to do to get out of a bad situation. You said you offered your sister help, right?”
He nods, staring into the dark room like he’s deep in thought.
“She obviously took you up on your offer. It just wasn’t in the time frame or the way you planned.”
His chest heaves with a sigh, and his eyes close like maybe I’ve just given him a little peace and he’s absorbing it. After a moment, he opens his eyes, and the loving way he peers at Charlie in his arms makes my heart stutter.
“I also think you have a hero complex.” The blue gaze spears me, but I shrug it off. “You can’t help it. You want to save the day, and when you can’t, you don’t know how to handle it.”
I uncurl and stand. It’s late, and after a hell of a day covering Lissette’s shop, I’m dead on my feet. Plus, the growing intimacy between us has obviously affected my ability to hold my tongue. I pause at his chair, running a hand over baby Charlie’s curls .
“But know that you’ve done right by this little one and call it a win. You’re doing a great job.”
I press a kiss to his hair and feel his gaze lingering on me as I pad to the door. The soft click as I pull it closed behind me does little to soothe the level of what the fuck rising within me. These two are doing something to me when I don’t have time for a man, especially one with a kid.
But if he’d asked me to stay. I would have.
“Jules—” Cal’s rumbly voice is yet again in my ear in the middle of the night. It’s been two nights since Charlie came down with hand, foot and mouth. Cal should’ve been at work but ended up calling in so he could take care of her.
At this rate, I’m worried he’s going to get into trouble with the amount of time he’s been out. But he’s committed to taking care of Charlie, and I do respect that.
I check the time on my phone. “It’s six in the morning? Why can’t you call me in the daylight hours like a normal person?”
“Do you…” He clears the rasp away and starts over. “Is it possible for adults to get this virus?”
I snuggle deeper into my comfy bed, relishing that it’s so quiet in my apartment.
“Cal, did you know that Google is your friend?” I smother a yawn. “I have no idea. I’ve never heard of it.” I put him on speakerphone and do a quick search. “Huh. Look at that. Dr. Google says that anyone can get it. Grown-ups included.”
A groan fills my ear. It’s oddly erotic and makes me squirm against the silky sheets wrapped around my legs .
“I woke up to give Charlie her meds and realized my throat is killing me. I think I’ve got it.”
He sounds miserable. But years of living with four brothers has probably made me less sympathetic to the man flu.
“So take the magic combo and go back to bed,” I say, covering a yawn.
Through both the wall and the phone, I hear Charlie squeal, and it hits me. “Oh, you can’t deal with her this morning, can you?”
“Not so much.”
I sigh and tell him I’m on my way. I don’t know why I feel compelled to rescue this man every time he calls. But I do.
I blame hormones and the fact that he looks ridiculously good without a shirt on.
By the time I gather Charlie and all of her paraphernalia up to take them to day care and call to verify that Nancy agrees that Charlie has been fever-free for over twenty-four hours, is feeling better, and is okay to return, Cal is stretched out on his sofa. Looking like a wet dream.
A wet dream with spots all around his mouth.
I snicker, enjoying this hilarious turn of events. Poor guy. He’s had it rough. But also, it’s hella funny to see a big, strong man bested by a toddler.
I haul Charlie to day care for him and go about my day. He’s called in some help on the construction project, so I swing in and see the progress. Cal texts me in between his naps. I try to be reassuring and patient in my response, even though my eyes roll every time his name pops up.
When I return in the evening, he’s texted me forty-five times, each message growing whinier. He’s really not a good patient.
“Hi, we’re home,” I call, letting Charlie bolt through the door, waddling her way through the apartment to hug his legs.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He gives her an affectionate pat on the head with the tips of his fingers. She’s clambering for him, arms outstretched for him to pick her up. But instead, he drops to a squat with a grimace and pulls her into his chest, without actually touching her with his hands.
“I sure needed that hug. I’m not feeling so great, Belle.”
He’s freshly showered, wearing a tight white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. He closes his eyes as he hugs the little girl. It’s adorable. He’s adorable. I don’t want to be moved by them, but something about the way he’s so tender with this child that was thrust on him is sexy as hell.
He stands, and Charlie runs to a nearby basket of toys.
His soft gaze follows her and allows me further inspection of this intriguing man.
He steps gingerly over to his chair and eases into it like he hurts all over.
He tilts his head back, and that’s when I catch the progress of the tiny blisters all around his mouth.
“Hi. That’s a gnarly case of herpes you’ve got.”
He raises a brow at me, one side of his mouth downturned in disapproval. “Not funny.” That deep blue gaze disappears as he closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the chair. “This sucks. It hurts.” He holds out his palms, which are also spotted. “They’re on my hands and feet too.”
And now I feel bad for dismissing his obvious discomfort.
I make sure Charlie is happy as Cal kicks his feet up and reclines the chair. It’s obvious he’s in no shape to take care of a toddler, so I putter around his kitchen and make some grilled cheese sandwiches for us and open a can of soup for him.
When it becomes obvious that he’s deep into his nap, I take Charlie through her bedtime routine and get her down for the night.
And then I sneak to my apartment for my Kindle and pajamas.
It really would be so much better if our apartments had doors that were next to each other rather than opening on opposite sides of the building.
I spot the shared balcony, wishing like anything that the stupid divider wasn’t there.
It would make this coming and going so much easier.
By the time I sneak back into his apartment, I’m winded from rushing. But I didn’t want to leave for too long in case Charlie woke up. Making a little nest for myself on his couch, I settle in with a book.
Sometime later, I wake as my Kindle is taken from my hands.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Cal whispers.
“That’s okay. How are you feeling?”
“Pretty rough. I woke up freezing. Went to grab a blanket and found you asleep on the couch.” He sinks into the chair, without the blanket, because it’s currently covering me.
I rise and drape it over him, and he shudders in relief. It’s not that cold in here, and warning bells go off. Heat radiates through my palm as I place it against his forehead.
“You’re burning up. When’s the last time you took anything?”
He doesn’t open his eyes, just rolls his head against the back of the chair. “I haven’t.”
Ugh . Frustrating martyr.
“I don’t know why guys do this. You’re as bad as my brothers. Just content to wallow in misery and not take medicine when you know it’ll help.” I grab a glass of water and some pills and watch until he’s swallowed it all.
“Thanks.” It’s a raspy whisper, and he’s looking pale.
“Get some rest.”
“Are you going to stay?”
“Why?” I blurt, caught off guard by his tone. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds like a hopeful little boy.
He visibly struggles to find words, but eventually, those blue, blue eyes meet mine. “I just really like knowing you’re here.” He pauses, then adds, “I like not being alone.”
The vulnerability in his tone is heartbreaking. “You’ve been alone a lot in your life, huh?”
Breaking eye contact, he closes his as he tilts his head back again. It’s so quiet, I almost miss him whisper, “Yeah.”
This has gotten too heavy too quickly. If he weren’t sick as a dog, I’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and hold him.
But we are not the lap-hugging kind of friends.
Under the guise of refilling his water, I escape the heaviness. But as I leave his refilled glass within easy reach on the table next to him, I give his shoulder a squeeze.
“Get some rest, yeah? I’ll keep an ear out for Charlie.”
“Why don’t you take the bed? I won’t sleep knowing you’re out here on the couch if I take the bed. It doesn’t sit right with me.”
I huff. “Cal, I’m not taking your bed, and you can’t sleep in a chair. You need to take care of your body and get some real rest. Not some kind of halfway sleep in a recliner.”
The look on his face is indecipherable, shifting from the pitiful sick look to something feral, then to something soft. It’s a whole mood swing in a matter of seconds, and I don’t know what to make of it. It feels like something monumental has shifted between us.
A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he folds the footrest in and stands. I watch, helpless to move, as he drapes the blanket around my shoulders. Then I watch his ass as he rounds the chair and makes his way to his bedroom.
At the door, he pauses and looks back at me. His broad shoulders are on display, the flat planes of his abs, the cinch of the sweatpants at his trim waist… all of him is mouthwatering.
And somehow, I’ve shifted from not liking him to eye-fucking him while he’s sick and vulnerable.
I grip the blanket tighter around me. I’m the worst kind of person.
But it’s his voice that pierces my heart as he taps the doorframe and whispers, “Thanks, Jules.”