him in the shower. I briefly considered giving him some kind of sponge bath, but that would shove me from the slightly creepy territory where I’m currently residing into You, the creepy Netflix series Sam got us all hooked on. Plus, it would be my luck that Gavin would wake up while I was washing out his armpits. I would never live that down.
I’ve got the bed properly made, the corner tucked in on the side that has a Harlan Coben novel and a pair of reading glasses. It is literally a twin of my dad’s bedside. Further proof that Gavin and I are worlds apart. He and my dad could be drinking buddies.
I shudder and turn my attention to the man lying on the floor. I’m amazed at how much stubble shadows his jaw after twenty-four hours. His fever might have subsided a little, as his skin no longer has a sheen to it. No, it’s just miles of golden, hard flesh that I am not going to ogle while he’s passed out. Nope.
He’s going to have to wake up, at least a little or I won’t be able to get him into the bed. With a deep breath, I crouch beside him and shake his shoulder gently.
“Hey, Gavin.”
He makes a sleepy sound and smacks his lips, but doesn’t so much as crack his eyes open. I shake him a little harder.
“Gavin. Wake up, big guy.”
“Zoey?” Suddenly, those deep chocolate eyes are open, clear, and fixed on mine.
He may be sick and smell a few degrees north of death, but he still makes my whole body react. Especially when his face stretches into a smile.
“It’s so good to see you. Hi,” he says, his voice sounding sleepy, and okay, maybe his eyes aren’t all that clear. He’s awake-ish, and I need to take advantage of this before he goes back to dead asleep.
“We need to get you in bed,” I say, shaking his shoulder again.
“You’re trying to get me in bed?” His eyebrows go up and that smile stretches even wider.
“No—I mean, yes. But not like that. Get up.”
“I like it when you’re bossy,” Gavin says. He lifts a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell.”
“I don’t plan on it,” I mutter, my cheeks reaching maximum heat level. “Come on. Move.”
“Mm. But only because you’re so cute.”
And then I die when he boops me on the nose. Like I’m a child. Or a bad house cat. At least he’s moving, I tell myself as he starts to get up. I swear, Gavin is like Will Ferrell in that movie where he gets shot in the neck with a horse tranquilizer. He manages to get his feet under him, but he’s jerky and lumbering and heavy weight as I manage to wrap an arm around his waist and direct him toward the bed.
It’s like three steps, but three steps is too many supporting his unsteady weight. Which is why, right as we reach his side of the bed, we do a repeat of earlier, except this time, he’s crashing down into the bed, dragging me on top of him.
I’m in bed with Gavin.
The part of my brain that might have daydreamed about being in his arms is doing the wave in the stands, the cheers deafening. I need to shut that down. He’s not fully asleep this time though, and his arms snake around my waist, even as I’m trying to wiggle away. I mean, there’s a slim part of me that wants to stop fighting, but I cannot be in bed with my totally out-of-it boss. But then he rolls right over so that he’s half on top of me, one leg hooked around mine and his arms octopusing around me as his face nuzzles into my neck.
That stubble lights up my nerve endings and I’m a sparkler on the Fourth of July, lit up and sparking and hot to the touch.
“Gavin,” I say, trying to shove his arms down and climb out of his hold.
But he isn’t having any of it. “You smell nice, butterfly.”
Butterfly. The romantic part of my heart just went into a full swoon at the pet name. But it’s not really for me. He’s not awake. This is the fever talking. Not my handsome older boss who has this incredible house, a great smile, and a view that people might kill for.
When his lips land on my neck, just below my ear, things get a little too real. Because aware or not, my entire body