Lead Player - Alex Grayson Page 0,51
I was glad he was there.
“I made some soup. Want to see if you can handle some of it? You need to put something in your stomach.”
“Yeah,” I say croakily, my throat still sore.
I lean my head against the headboard and watch as he picks up the bowl. A light steam floats up from the top. Surprisingly, it smells delicious, and suddenly I’m starving.
He looks so cute sitting there blowing on the spoonful of soup to cool it down that I can’t help but smile a little. He looks like what a father would look like getting ready to feed his child.
Slowly, he moves the spoon toward me, and I open my mouth. The flavors of the broth and the little chunks of chicken and noodle burst on my tongue. I moan and lick my lips in delight.
“That tastes so good.”
“It’s my mom’s recipe. When Allison and I got sick, she always made this for us.” He chuckles while dipping the spoon in the bowl for more. “Canned soups were forbidden in our house. She claimed soups were meant to be made from scratch and with love.”
I smile and take the bite he holds out for me. “She sounds like a good mom.”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better one. Even when she drives me bonkers.”
“I think driving their kids bonkers is in all mom’s DNA. Just like overprotective fathers.”
His lips tip up. “Sounds about right. Dad met Allison’s first date at the door with his gun belt strapped around his waist.”
I laugh. “How awful for her. At least my dad stayed in the living room when I answered the door for my first date, even though he shot major warnings at him with his eyes. My date couldn’t get me out of the door fast enough.”
He holds out another bite, and I greedily open my mouth. This soup is seriously good.
“Are you close with your family? Obviously, you’re close with Allison, but what about your parents?”
“Yeah, pretty close. Mom and Dad moved to Arizona to be with my mom’s mom when she became ill. We talk on the phone a couple times a week and one of us visits the other when we can.”
“That’s nice.
“What about you?”
“My mom died when I was fifteen. Ovarian cancer. It’s just been dad and me since. Well, it was until a few years ago. Dad remarried. Thankfully his new wife and I get along great. They actually moved out here from Texas to be closer to me after they married.”
“You’re from Texas?” I nod. “You don’t sound like it.”
I laugh then open my mouth for my next bite. “Not all Texas natives have the twang.”
He sets the bowl back down on the tray. “You ate it all. How’s your stomach?”
“Surprisingly good. In fact, I could absolutely eat more.”
“Thank fuck. You had me worried.”
“It was only a stomach bug, Enzo.”
He frowns. “And a shit one. You’ve been out of it for two days.”
“What?” I yell, then wince when the noise causes my head to pound. “There’s no way I was out that long.”
“Alaina, baby, it’s Thursday night.”
My eyes widen, disbelief filling me. “Crap.” A thought suddenly occurs. “I had a phone conference with a client yesterday.”
“It was taken care of.” I raise my brows at that. “Juliet came by yesterday morning and saw how sick you were. She knew you had an appointment, so she emailed the client herself and rescheduled it for next week.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I hate letting clients down, and it’s a pet peeve of mine when others do it.
“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I say quietly. “You didn’t have to stay and take care of me, but I’m glad you did.”
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else. Just promise me next time, you’ll call me before it gets that bad. Or if not me, one of your friends.”
I nod.
He tucks the blanket around me, which is totally endearing and sweet.
“You need to get more sleep.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Have you slept any?”
“I got an hour or two here and there. I didn’t want to sleep too much in case you needed me.”
“Enzo,” I start, guilt eating at me. It’s one thing to take care of me while I’m sick. It’s another to neglect himself in the process.
“It’s fine. Now that you’re feeling better, I’ll relax more and get some rest.” He gets up from the bed. “Do you need anything?”
Looking down at my sweat-soaked shirt, I’m reminded of how