13. Grayson
13
GRAYSON
C old and flu medicine plus the persuasive rumble of Xavier’s phone voice.
That’s how I ended up here.
Here being, in my bed, my legs tangled up with his, my arms thrown over abs I don’t even feel well enough to fully appreciate, with drool sliding down the side of my face onto his chest. I’m too tired, and far too sick, to be embarrassed, so I just lay there, breathing through my mouth because my nose is stopped up. It’s dark. The only light in the room coming from the muted TV that’s still playing Living Single re-runs.
“Your fever broke,” Xavier says, touching a hand to my forehead.
I’m not surprised that he’s awake. He strikes me as the type of person who would stay up all night just to avoid the narrow possibility of being asleep when the person under his care needs something.
“I’ll have to take your word for it because I don’t feel any different.”
Well, that’s not exactly true. Having him here makes me happier than I’ve been in days. Laying on his chest while he holds me close makes me feel precious, cared for, loved. As soon as the word pops up in my head, I push it back down and force myself up and out of the bed, putting some distance between Xavier and I.
He rises from his spot. His questioning gaze lit up by the flickering lights on the TV. “Where are you going?”
“Shower,” I call out over my shoulder, rushing to the bathroom. I half expect him to follow me, but he doesn’t. The door clicks closed behind me, and I lock it for good measure, not because I don’t trust Xavier to respect my privacy, but because I don’t trust myself not to go back out there and ask him if what’s happening to me is also happening to him.
Not the fever induced sweats and the clogged nose that’s turned me into a mouth breather, but the other stuff. The sweet, soft longing for his presence. The loud, insistent craving for his skin and his lips and his eyes and his voice. Every minute of my day is spent forcing myself not to think of him, not to text him back too quickly, not to smile too hard when I answer his daily FaceTime calls, not to invite him over for the sole purpose of breathing the same air as him.
I run a hand over my face and try to push a calming breath out through my nose, before remembering that both nostrils are congested and redirecting it to my mouth. I’m such a mess, and I never should have agreed to let Xavier come over to take care of me. Spending the night drooling on his chest is probably the least sexy, least un-serious thing I could ever do, and now the lines of our situation are blurred.
Haven’t they always been blurred? I ask myself silently, shuffling over to the vanity to brush my teeth and wash my face. I feel a little more human once I’ve moisturized, able to acknowledge that Xavier was right about the fever breaking. My eyes are no longer glassy, and my limbs, while still heavy, don’t ache as much as they did yesterday. I feel confident I can take a shower and maybe even wash my hair without passing out, so I go for it, moving as fast as my tired limbs will allow, trying to be quick and thorough.
When I finish, I wrap myself up in a towel, run a brush through my curls before putting it in another bun and heading back out into my bedroom to face Xavier. The sun is coming up now, bathing the room in gentle rays of light that spill over my bed, highlighting the fact that my mattress is now bare and my companion is nowhere to be found. I stand there, stunned, my sick brain trying to process all the changes, which is how Xavier finds me.
He comes striding into my room, still in those slutty little briefs he always wears, with a stack of fresh linens in hand and a serious look on his face. “You should sit down. You’ve probably been on your feet too long.”
As if trying to prove his point, every muscle in my body starts to feel weak, so I sink down into the seat in front of my vanity, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’d you do to my sheets?”
He glances at me, brows folded with confusion, as he slides one corner of the fitted sheet onto the mattress. “Um, nothing?”
“Then why are you putting new ones on the bed?”
In all my years of marriage and cohabitation, I never once saw Brian strip or make a bed, so it strikes me as odd that Xavier would do it completely unprompted.
With the fitted sheet secured, Xavier reaches for the top sheet. “Because I figured you’d want fresh ones after your shower, and my mom always says you should change your sheets after your fever breaks, so you’re not sleeping in old germs.”
“Oh.”
He straightens, tipping his head to one side as he tries to gauge my mood. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Oh.” I grab the bottle of lotion on the vanity and pump some into my hands, refusing to meet his gaze as I slather it onto my skin.
“Are you weirded out by me changing your sheets, Hart?”
“What?! No, of course not. Why would that weird me out?”
“I don’t know, but you’ve got a look on your face that tells me this—” he waves a hand over the bed, which is now covered in a fresh duvet “—is bringing up some feelings for you. I’m just not sure what they are.”
The look he’s talking about is in fact my ‘in my feelings’ face. However, none of the varying emotions running through me right now are anything close to weird or uncomfortable. If anything, I’m mad. At Brian, for never once showing up for me the way Xavier has in the short time I’ve known him and never so much as getting me a fucking tissue anytime I got sick. And at myself for wasting all those years on a selfish bastard when a man like this was out here waiting for me.
I can’t say any of that to Xavier though, so once I’m done with my lotion and he’s no longer busy putting new cases on the pillows, I just walk over and hug him. “Thank you for changing the bedding and for being here to take care of me. I appreciate you.”
“You’re welcome.” He wraps his arms around me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “Does this mean you’re not weirded out?”
“Quite the opposite. I’m very appreciative.”
“So you won’t find it odd if I run home, shower, grab my work stuff and come back to hang out with you for the rest of the day? Maybe even stay the whole weekend?”
“You don’t—” I start, swallowing the rest of the sentence when he narrows his eyes at me. He hates when I tell him he doesn’t have to do things he so clearly wants to do for me. I hate feeling odd about accepting his generosity, especially when he’s always offering those parts of himself up to me so freely.
Is this what it’s like? I wonder to myself. Is this how it feels to be with a man who genuinely likes you?
“I would love that,” I say finally, earning myself a bright, warm smile from Xavier and a smacking kiss to my lips that makes me laugh before I scold him about putting himself at risk of getting sick. After we’re both dressed, and I’m tucked back into bed with orders not to take any medicine until he returns with our breakfast, I burrow underneath the covers and start a group FaceTime with my cousins.
A’ja answers first, and the angle of her camera reveals that she’s in her home office. Before we can even exchange greetings, Chantel comes on the line, her face on one side of the screen while Kendra’s is on the other.
“What are y’all doing together and why wasn’t I invited?” A’ja asks, her nose scrunched up.
“We told you we were going shopping for Crew’s party decorations today,” Kendra says, pointing an accusatory finger at A’ja through the screen. “ You said you had to work.”
“I do have to work. I also recall asking if y’all could wait until I wrapped up my day to go shopping, so I could be included. I mean, who buys party decorations at eight in the damn morning?”
Kendra turns the finger she was just using to antagonize A’ja into her own chest. “ ME! ”
Chantel grabs the phone, shifting Kendra out of the screen, so the situation doesn’t escalate further. No one needs A’ja and Kendra on the outs, not with Crew’s birthday in two weeks. He asked if he could have the party at my house, wanting to take advantage of the pool in my backyard, and because I can’t deny him anything—even a request for a bouncy house Kendra gave me hell about—I said yes.
“A’ja, don’t be mad at Ken. I’m the one that asked her to meet me because it’s the only time I’d be available this week.”
Unimpressed by Chantel’s plea, A’ja purses her lips and arches a brow, refusing to say a word. Since I started the call, I feel obligated to try to calm things down, or at least change the subject to make them forget what they’re fighting about.
“Xavier’s spending the weekend over here,” I blurt out, covering my face with the covers.
“He knows you’re sick, right? Like he’s not expecting no coochie or nothing?”
“A’ja!” Chantel gasps, fighting back a laugh.
“What? I’m just asking a question. I don’t want him thinking she’s going to be busting it wide open all weekend when she can’t even breathe properly.”
Kendra shoves her way back onto the screen just so we can see her rolling her eyes. “He knows she’s sick, A’ja. He came over yesterday to take care of her. By the way, how’d that go?”
“It was great. He fed me homemade chicken noodle soup and held me all night.” The words come out in a love sick gush that sounds even more disgusting thanks to my stuffy nose, but I can’t stop myself from continuing. “And this morning, he changed the sheets on the bed while I was in the shower. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Oh, honey ,” A’ja murmurs, her voice laced with the mix of pity and excitement I see in all of their eyes. As sad as it sounds, I’ve gotten used to these expressions. When they appear, it’s to remind me of all the common place, mundane experiences Brian robbed me of, and to let me know how happy the people who love me are about me getting to have them now.
“That is sweet, Gray,” Chantel says, stretching her eyes wide to get A’ja in line.
“Very sweet,” A’ja agrees quickly.
“When are you two going to admit that you’re in love?” Kendra asks, shocking no one. Ever since I’ve started teasing her about her “friendship” with Orion, she’s taken to pressing me about my feelings for Xavier.
“We’re not in love.”
As usual, my denial is met with my cousins’ skepticism, and because I don’t have the energy to go back and forth with them, I remain quiet.
“Maybe not yet, but you’re definitely on your way,” Chantel argues. I open my mouth to respond, but think better of continuing the conversation when I hear the front door open and close.
“I have to go. I think Xavier’s back.”
We all say quick goodbyes and hang up just as Xavier comes into the room. He’s wearing gray sweats, a matching hoodie and a pair of white Nikes that look like he just pulled them out of the box. There’s a book bag on his back, a duffel slung over his shoulder, and what looks like a grocery bag in his hand. I sit up a little, leaning against the headboard as I watch him set his things down next to the side of the bed he’s claimed as his own.
“That was a quick trip.”
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
He sets the grocery bag on the bed and begins to unpack it, pulling out a container of fresh cut fruit, a smaller bag with wrapped breakfast sandwiches, that smell faintly of bacon, and a few pastries. My stomach rumbles, and Xavier laughs.
“I guess I was right to rush.” He hands me one sandwich and slides the fruit and pastries closer to me as I unwrap it. “Eat. I’m going to run downstairs and get your medicine and something to drink. Do you want anything specific? Coffee, juice, water? I could make you some tea.”
My mouth is full of buttery biscuit, savory bacon and cheesy eggs, so I can’t exactly formulate a response. Xavier doesn’t seem to mind, and he doesn’t wait for me to finish chewing before he leaves the room, chuckling. Moments later, he comes back with a tray of assorted drinks—some of which were not in my refrigerator the last time I checked—napkins, utensils for us to eat the fruit with, and my medicine. I gape at him, and he gives me a sheepish grin as he hands me the pills.
“I may have a gotten a little carried away with the drinks, but I wanted you to have options.”
“Options are good,” I muse, taking a glass of orange juice. The first sip of the acidic drink coupled with the scrape of the assortment of pills burns a bit when I swallow, and I wince.
“You good? Want something different?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure because?—”
“Xavier, sit down, eat, and stop fussing over me.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender, a smile on his lips as he rounds the bed and takes his place beside me. “Somebody’s feeling better. I guess the Allen Rehabilitation Program is working.”
A stupid smile tugs on my lips, and I don’t even bother trying to hide it. “Shut up.”
“Yeah.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, a proud and annoying grin warming the side of my face. “It’s definitely working.”