she’d imbibed more margaritas than she should’ve. It’d been a dumb move, drinking that much on a work night. She rarely fucked up like that, but Olivia had been so happy to have female friends nearby again that she’d slipped.
But whatever monster was raging through her body felt more serious than a hangover. Besides, weren’t you supposed to throw up the night you drank too much, not the morning after? Maybe—
Aaaannd there went her dinner again. Or maybe it was yesterday’s lunch or breakfast. She couldn’t possibly have any of the burger and fries from Catalina left in her stomach.
After an eternity, the vomiting finally, blissfully ceased, and Olivia slumped on the floor.
Sammy knelt until they were at eye level, worry etched all over his handsome face.
“G’way,” Olivia moaned. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She felt and no doubt looked like shit, there were bits of vomit in her hair—gross—and her complexion probably resembled that of a wax figure.
Embarrassment snaked through her, which was so messed up. She might be dying, and she was worried about what she looked like in front of Sammy?
Talk about screwed-up priorities.
Sammy’s mouth tilted up for a moment before it flattened again. “You’re not dying, and you look...well, not fine, but not worse than what anyone else in your situation would look like.”
Shit. She’d voiced her thoughts out loud?
Her day kept getting worse and worse.
“What time is it?” Hopefully, she had time to shower. Even if she didn’t, she had to shower. She couldn’t walk out of the house like this.
“A little past eight.”
Olivia squawked in dismay. “I’m late!” By the time she showered, got dressed, and hoofed it to the office, it’d be well into the workday.
She grabbed Sammy’s hand. “Phone. Call,” she wheezed.
He knew what she was asking before she spelled it out. “No,” he said. “You’re sick. You can’t even stand, much less go to work.”
“Can too.” Olivia pushed herself off the ground. Two seconds later, her ass hit the cool white tile again—and stayed there. “Cannot,” she amended.
“Anyway, I already called your office and told them you couldn’t come in because you have a stomach virus.”
What? When? Olivia hadn’t heard him on the phone. Then again, she’d been too busy acquainting herself with the toilet to pay attention to much else.
The adrenaline from missing work dissipated and left her more drained than before. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this sick. She hadn’t even caught a common cold in three or four years—her immune system was titanium.
Sammy left and returned a minute later with a little plastic stool that he plunked in the shower stall. Olivia didn’t protest when he hauled her into the shower, sat her down on the stool, and helped rinse out her hair. She knew how to pick her battles.
Sammy worked briskly, shampooing and conditioning the sticky strands until they were nice and clean again. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of his strong, sure hands massaging her scalp. The jackhammers in her head eased, lulled by the massage, the soothing sound of the water, and the comforting male presence beside her.
After he finished, he dried her hair and carried her into her bedroom, bridal-style. Somehow, he’d avoided spraying water on her torso in the shower, so Olivia didn’t need to change before he tucked her back into bed.
Her stomach growled its displeasure at the new horizontal position. “Sam—”
A trash can appeared before she finished saying his name. She leaned over and dry heaved while he held her hair again and rubbed soothing circles on her back, but nothing came out.
After a while, she flopped onto her back and waved the proverbial white flag. “I’m sick.”
“I know.” Sammy smoothed a gentle hand over her hair.
The next few hours—days? weeks?—passed in a blur. Olivia was out of it half the time, caught up in feverish hallucinations or fitful dreams. It must’ve been days, because if it were weeks, she’d be in a hospital. Every time she woke up, Sammy was there, feeding her ice chips to help with the dehydration. He seemed to know what she needed, when she needed it without her saying anything, including when she needed to use the restroom or throw up again.
Yeah, the symptoms from whatever she had were not pleasant. Things came out on both ends.
It would’ve been deeply humiliating, except Olivia was too miserable to feel embarrassed. She was only grateful that she wasn’t living alone, dealing with this nightmare by herself.
Perhaps her