Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
A soft hand clasps mine, and although my head is throbbing, I manage a weak smile when I see Remington sitting beside me on the bed.
“I never get sick, just tired.”
“Just get some rest.” She smiles down at me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
If only I could trust her words, I could rest easy.
“I’m fine.” I don’t know that I’ve ever struggled to get out of bed before. Yeah, I’ve been sore from long runs, but I don’t recall a single time I’ve told my body to move and found it unable to obey. It’s a dangerous situation to be in.
“Did you drug me?” I whisper, looking into her green eyes and searching for the truth.
A gentle smile plays on her lips as her delicate hand cups my jaw. “No, Flynn. I haven’t drugged you. You have the flu. Can you take oral meds or would it be easier for the doctor to put in an IV before she leaves?”
“Oral,” I hiss. I don’t want no damn needles in my arms.
“I’ll suggest again, Ms. Blair, that you let a trained professional handle Mr. Coleman’s recovery. There’s no need for you both to be sick.”
“We’re lovers, Dr. Covington. If he’s sick, then I’ve already been exposed. Does his treatment require a medical professional?”
Goddamn this woman is a good liar, but the possibility of having her that way makes me groan, or maybe it’s the pain at the base of my skull, either way, I’m uncomfortable.
“Not particularly. If you’re able to get him to take his meds and keep him hydrated, then he should be fine. Call me again if his condition gets worse.”
I hear shuffling, like the doctor is packing up, but I just can’t manage to face the bright light in the room. I don’t think I’d survive it.
“I know it seems scary with him laid out like he is, but for some reason men just don’t handle illness with the same ease women do.”
They both chuckle, and if she wasn’t telling the truth, I’d open my mouth and tell her so. I’m considering the wording of my Yelp Review on the good doctor when the hand on my face disappears. Frantically, I search for her.
“Shh. I’m just going to walk the doctor out. I’ll be right back.”
Her thumb skates over my lower lip, and Jesus, it’s a blessing that I’m too sick to do a damn thing about it. If she did that while I was in tip-top shape, I don’t know that I’d have the ability to keep my hands off of her.
It’s either a second or years before her weight settles near me.
“Drink this.” I sputter on cool liquid when she tilts a cup to my lips.
I try to drink, but it feels impossible. I’ve never been this disoriented in my life, and I hate that she’s having to take care of me. I’m the protector, the one tasked with keeping her safe. She shouldn’t be here looking after me.
“I need my phone,” I mutter. “Need to call someone in while I’m sick.”
“I’m going to stay here with you.”
“Hired to do a job,” I pant. “Need to bring in another team member.”
Anyone but fucking Brooks. I can’t say the man would be as good at maintaining professional distance as I’ve done thus far.
Just the thought of him showing up and keeping her occupied in the other room makes my fevered skin heat even more.
“I’ll get your phone,” she whispers.
I moan with delight when a cool cloth is pressed to my forehead, and it doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off again.
Remington never brings me the damn phone, but she does wake me what seems like every fifteen seconds to force liquids and meds down my damn throat. At first, I growled at her, insisting that if she just left me the hell alone, I’d get better, but after the third time, I found it just easier to do what she wanted. The sooner I took a drink or swallowed some damn pills the quicker she would let me rest.
Chapter 10
Remington
I’ll be the first to admit that watching someone sleep is creepy as hell, yet I’ve been doing it for hours. I’m attuned to every moan, every grunt of discomfort that escapes from Flynn’s fevered lips.
I’m not the caregiving type. Not because I hate the idea of it but I’ve never been put in the position before.
Although I’ve been on the receiving end of help—most often when I got too drunk or took too many drugs—but my friends always turned to someone else when they were in the same predicament. It’s like they knew I wasn’t capable, like they weren’t safe with me, and I blame my own life choices for being in the position in the first place. Then I was grateful. I didn’t want that responsibility thrust upon me because let’s face it, I was never in a place well enough to help anyone. I needed help myself.