Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Charli
I hear a faint knock on the door, but I don’t move.
Camden has the code, so why he’s knocking is beyond me.
I’m lying in bed, my face buried in my pillow to try to block out the sunlight still filtering through my blinds.
My head is pounding, my throat’s dry and painful, and my ears feel like they’re going to burst. Not to mention the tightness in my chest from the start of an upper respiratory infection.
I’m glad Oaklee talked me into going to see Dr. Houston. Ever since I woke up Sunday morning, I progressively felt worse and worse. The cough started Monday and the fever on Tuesday. When the stabbing pain hit my ears and I had a hard time catching my breath this morning, I finally agreed to go.
I hate being sick. Not only do I have to cancel appointments—appointments clients are really looking forward to—but I’m not the greatest patient.
I don’t sit idly well, and we all know rest is a key ingredient to getting over whatever ails you.
Fortunately for me, I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to take more medicine, so sitting around getting mad because I’m being forced to take it easy isn’t a problem at the moment.
“Charli?”
That voice.
It’s all too familiar. I’d know Quinn’s soft, yet gravelly tone anywhere. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask without lifting my face from my pillow.
“I volunteered. Camden had a trailer full of material for his garage, so I said I’d run and grab your scripts and a few supplies,” he says, sounding much closer than when he called my name.
“I don’t need anything,” I mutter, knowing that’s a lie.
“Well, I brought you soup from the diner. Jeff sends his well wishes. He threw in a strawberry milkshake and a thick slice of fresh sourdough bread when he heard you weren’t feeling well.”
I groan, turning on my side and cracking open my eyes. Thankfully, he kept the lights off, so it doesn’t take much for my eyes to adjust. “What kind of soup?”
“Cream of mushroom and barley,” he says, and my stomach growls.
“Gimme,” I mutter.
Quinn chuckles. “You wanna go into the kitchen to eat?”
I sigh, knowing I should. The last thing I want is to wake up, covered in breadcrumbs and droplets of soup marring my pajamas. Throwing the comforter off, I stand up, instantly cold. It’s not cold in here, but with this low-grade fever, I’m freezing.
“Uhh, Charli?”
There’s something in his voice. It’s panic mixed with desire. “Huh?”
“You’re, uh…”
I look over at him and follow his line of site.
“Fuck it all to hell,” I mutter, spinning around and heading for my closet to grab a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
I quickly slip them on, covering up my bra and panties.
I remember coming home, burning up from the fever, and stripping out of my leggings and shirt, but too exhausted to take the extra couple of minutes to dig something to sleep in out of the drawer.
Sighing, I shake my head and prepare to step out of the closet.
I’m not upset Quinn just saw me in my panties and bra.
How can I when the look in his eyes said more than any man has ever said to me in the last decade.
My issue is the fact I didn’t even have on anything cute today.
Being sick, I threw on a pair of cotton panties that double as ones I’ll wear during that time of the month, and a bra that’s a little older and stretched out. Definitely not sexy.
Not that I was trying to be.
I join Quinn in my bedroom. He’s standing by the door, his back to me. “You can turn around.”
He does so, but a bit hesitantly. “Sorry.”
I shrug and make my way to the doorway. Before I pass through, I pause and reply, “I suppose turnabout is fair play.” Since I did see him in a well-fitting pair of boxer briefs less than two weeks ago.
In the kitchen, I walk to the fridge. “Sit down. I’ll get it,” he insists firmly.
Even though I’d love to argue with him, I just don’t have the energy.
Instead, I plop down onto one of my kitchen chairs, very unladylike, and watch him move about my space.
He places a large paper bag on the counter and starts pulling stuff from within.
A bottle of Gatorade first—grape, my favorite—followed by two pill bottles from the pharmacy.
He shakes out two small white pills from one bottle and a large pink one from another. “Here, the small ones are the steroid, and the larger one is the amoxicillin.”
“That’s a damn horse pill,” I mutter, taking in the huge pill in his palm. “How the hell do they expect me to swallow something so big?”
He snorts, dropping them in my hand. “That’s what she said!”
I want to roll my eyes, but a giggle comes out instead. Unfortunately, that giggle causes me to start coughing. “Ouch!” I mumble.
“Here.” He twists off the cap of a Gatorade and holds it out for me.
I take it, while muttering, “I can do it.”
“I know.” He is placating me like a child.
Whatever.
Sipping the Gatorade, I swallow a few mouthfuls, wincing as the liquid slides down my sore throat. I start with the two tiny pills before moving to the horse pill. It hurts going down, but I manage, and then I take a few more drinks of liquid for good measure.
Then, a bowl of delicious-smelling soup appears in front of me, steam rolling as I lean down and inhale. “Oh my God,” I mumble, my mouth watering.
He hands me a spoon and opens the wrapped bread and places it beside the bowl. Then, he shoves a straw in the milkshake. “Drink the Gatorade too.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I sass.
Quinn offers me a panty-melting grin. “Call me whatever you want,” he states, waggling his eyebrows.
I chuckle again, trying not to think about this new level of kink playing out in my mind. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome.” He glances at his watch. “Do you need anything else? I gotta run and pick up a pizza Cam ordered before helping him unload the OSB for his garage.”
“I don’t want to keep you,” I say, feeling bad about keeping him when someone is waiting on him—even if that someone is my brother.
“You’re not. He can wait. You’re way better looking than he is,” he adds with a wink.
“Well, I do appreciate you bringing me my meds. And dinner.”
“There is some other stuff in the bag too. I wasn’t sure what you had or needed, so I just grabbed a variety.
” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.
My eyes are drawn to his forearms, to the corded muscles.
He’s a bit dirty from work, but not terrible.
Just more proof he dropped what he was doing to help, not only my brother, but me.
“Thank you,” I repeat.
He nods and steps toward me, bending over when he’s at my side.
His mouth moves closer, and the very breath I breathe hitches in my throat.
Anticipation races through my veins as my tongue slips out and glides along my dry, cracked lips.
His dark eyes are locked on mine, his mouth slowly drawing closer.
Then, it happens. He raises his hand and gently places it on my forehead. His touch is soft, though his hands are rough from working with them. “You have a fever. Take something, finish eating, and get some rest, Charli.”
His smooth words are like a familiar lullaby, soft and soothing in ways I’ve never experienced before. And when he finishes bending down and pressing his lips to my forehead, I almost sigh in contentment.
Or at least I think I almost do it, except when he chuckles, something tells me I actually sighed out loud.
“Rest, Charli. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
And just as quickly as he appeared in my doorway, he’s gone.
The soft click of the front door lets me know I’m alone once more.
I sip on the soup, the warmth sliding down my throat and making me smile.
Quinn didn’t just grab my medicine but called in a quick order to the diner for me too.
Not only that, but he also grabbed my favorite flavor of Gatorade.
I eat half the container of soup and about the same of the bread before replacing the lid on the container and putting it in the fridge for later.
Taking the milkshake, I go to the counter and peek inside the bag.
Four more bottles of Gatorade are there, and since they’re cold, I place those in the fridge also.
Cold and flu meds, pain reliever, nasal saline, and cough drops.
That’s the extra stuff he picked up for me.
I can’t believe he did this. I was with Richard for almost three years, and he never took care of me like this.
The time I had the flu and was down for almost four days, he bitched about having to do the cooking and the cleaning, as if those duties were automatically my responsibility, whether I was well or not.
What a fuckstick.
But Quinn brought me all this stuff because he felt it could help me, and while I already have the cold medicine and pain reliever in my cabinet, it doesn’t go unnoticed that he still purchased it on the off chance I needed it.
Grabbing the milkshake, I take another long pull from the straw.
The cold feels amazing as it slides down my throat, soothing the pain and bringing a smile to my face.
A rare one. I haven’t felt like smiling since I started to feel sick Sunday.
I definitely wasn’t smiling as I called all my clients from today and tomorrow and cancelled their appointments.
But one little visit from Quinn and I’m suddenly smiling.
Of course, that’s probably the strawberry milkshake talking. This thing is that amazing.
Gathering up the cough drops, nasal spray, Gatorade, and shake, I take it all to the bedroom and set it on my nightstand before slipping into my bathroom to take some pain reliever and use the toilet.
When I’m done, I wash my hands, take another drink of the milkshake, and climb into bed.
I’m exhausted, my body relaxing as I position the blanket around my neck.
I know I should drink a little more, but I just don’t have the energy right now. I need sleep.