Lead Player - Alex Grayson Page 0,50
his own filled with concern.
“I couldn’t.” I clear my throat when the words come out scratchy. “I couldn’t make it back to the bedroom where my phone was.”
Slipping an arm underneath my shoulders, he lifts me up and brings a glass of cold water to my lips.
Holy crap. Has water ever tasted so good?
“You look terrible,” he comments unnecessarily. I know how bad I must look. “I think we may need to take you to the hospital.”
“No,” I mumble. “It’s just a stomach bug or something. A friend of mine had it a couple days ago. I was around her yesterday.”
I’m going to kill Samantha for giving me her cooties.
He looks doubtful, but after a minute, he nods. “We need to get some meds into you. That fever needs to come down.”
“Medicine cabinet above the sink. There should be something there.”
Before I can stop him, he leans down and kisses my forehead, then gets up to grab the medicine.
“You can’t be doing that,” I tell him once he’s back.
“Doing what?” He cracks open the bottle of medicine and pours a couple tablets into his palm.
“Kiss me. First, gross. I’m all nasty and sweaty. And second, I don’t want to get you sick.”
Again, he helps me to sit up so I can take the pills. “You don’t worry about me.”
Rolling my eyes, I take the pills and pop them in my mouth, then take a sip of the water he holds to my lips.
I settle back down onto the sheets and he places the wet rag on my forehead again.
“This came on quick. You were fine when I talked to you this morning, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. It started about an hour after we hung up, and it came on fast.”
He strokes my cheek, his expression tender. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll have some soup ready for you when you wake up.”
Even the thought of food turns my stomach, but I know I need to eventually eat. Thankfully the water hasn’t tried to make a reappearance, which could be a good sign.
With a nod, I close my eyes, and before I know it, I drift off to sleep.
Careful, so as not to disturb my sour stomach, I roll to my other side. My cheek hits something moist and kinda rough. I slit open my eyes and slant them to my pillow. Using my thumb and pointer finger, I grab one of the corners of the small terry cloth material to throw it on the nightstand when my eyes land on an unopened bottle of water. Seeing it, I swallow, and I’m reminded of how dry and scratchy my throat is.
After mangling the top off the water with sleep hands—you know when you wake up and your hands are so weak you can’t grip anything?—I manage to sit up enough to take a few swallows. Thankfully, my stomach doesn’t revolt with the movement or liquid.
Feeling optimistic, I decide to try to sit up. I’m just starting to push my pillow against the headboard when Enzo walks in the room.
“Don’t move,” he orders, rounding my side of the bed and setting a tray down on the nightstand.
Even with my mind half-delirious, my body reacts to seeing him. He has on a pair of black cargo pants and a dark grey button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is just how I like it. Sexily messy.
After he adjusts the pillows and helps me lean back against them, he sits on the side of the bed by my hip.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t feel as hot as you were, so your fever has gone down.”
I press a hand to my abdomen and take a moment to answer. “I think I’m okay. My stomach hurts, but I think it’s just sore muscles from all the puking I did. At the moment, my stomach has settled.”
Relief hits his face. Enzo has been a Godsend since I got sick. I remember a couple of different times waking up with the need to vomit. I was so weak there was no way I would have made it to the toilet in time. He just scooped me up in his strong arms and carried me to the bathroom, holding my hair back and speaking soothing words to me while rubbing my back. Had I been in the right frame of mind I would have been horrified to have him see me like that, but