by Amanda Perry
“Easy, Speed Racer. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep running around like that.” Syn tries to chuckle at his joke, but it breaks off into another coughing fit.
“Are you okay?” I straighten out and rub his shoulder as he coughs into his arm. He nods and gives the cap of a water bottle a twist to pop it off. He downs nearly half the bottle in one gulp. My attention goes to his neck to watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he drinks. How the hell can he make drinking so damned sexy?
He sighs heavily after a long swallow and recaps the bottle. “I think I’m dying, but I’ll live.”
I blink at him, waiting for an elaboration he doesn’t give me. “I know I’m tired, but even if I wasn’t half asleep that would make no damn sense, Syn.”
He walks down the hall again, toward his room. “There’s some cold thing going around right now. I think I may have picked it up.”
“Is it just the coughing?” Concerned for him now, I follow him to his room. He drops onto his bed, and I press my hand to his forehead. No fever—that’s good at least.
His lip pokes out, and he whines. “No, my nose is stuffy, and my head hurts.”
“Do you guys have any cold medicine?” I glance around his room. In my half-awake state, I begin a pointless search for medicine around his room, but the decor of his room stops my search.
For someone as fun and silly as Syn, his room is surprisingly dull. No crazy patterns or funky pictures adorn the walls. Instead, the walls are painted a light beige with a few generic pictures hung sporadically. His bedding is navy blue and as tiresome as the walls. The only thing in the room to let me know it belongs to Syn is the talking fish on the far wall, almost hidden but not quite.
“All the meds are in the bathroom cabinet downstairs,” Syn groans pitifully. “Taylor, I need your help. If I go back downstairs, I might never make it back up here.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I throw my hands in the air and spin on my heel to march toward the bedroom door. “I’ll get you some medicine, you big wiener.”
He mumbles something about a wiener, probably something inappropriate and funny, but I’ve already made it halfway down the hall and can’t make out the words. However, I do pick up on the whine in his tone and shake my head.
“And Allistar says I’m dramatic,” I continue to grumble to myself as I find the right medication for Syn. It doesn’t take any time at all, and I make my way back to him. He removed his shirt and climbed under his covers. His eyes are closed, and I wonder briefly if he fell asleep. If he did, I’m putting the pills in his mouth to melt so he can wake to a nasty taste in his mouth. As much as I enjoy a shirtless Syn, I love my sleep more at the moment.
While he isn’t paying attention, my eyes scan over his torso. He boasts several tattoos on his arms. I follow the tattoos from his arms up to his shoulders then down his sides. The ink on his body matches his personality perfectly. It’s how I expected his room to be, but it makes more sense that he decorated his body with colorful, bold images.
Something shiny on his nipples catches my eye, and my feet move me forward a few steps. My jaw hits the floor when I get closer and realize their pierced. My hand reaches out before my mind says don’t, and I lightly touch the tiny silver balls on his left nipple. The second my fingertip makes contact, he gasps and jumps about a foot off the bed.
His eyes pop wide open and seek me out. He glances down at my hand hovering over him. He raises his eyebrows, his amusement clear in his mischievous blue eyes. “What are you doing?”
“You have your nipples pierced.” It isn’t a real answer to his question, but it’s the only one I can voice.
He nods while he watches me bring my fingertips back to the metal bar, circling lightly. His body shutters, and he grunts. The sound pushes him into a coughing fit, which snaps me out of the fog his inked, pierced, sexy body put me into.
“Take this, it’ll help.” I drop the pills into his hand then uncap the water bottle from his nightstand.
He sits up in the bed, pops them into his mouth, and takes a few long gulps of the water. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” I shift awkwardly on my feet. “You really need some better artwork in here, by the way. The crap you have up is... Well, crap.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “It’s hard for me to find shit that’ll keep my attention for more than five minutes. I figure something will catch my eye eventually.”
My gaze darts around for something to focus on other than his half-naked body. “I could paint some things for you if you want.”
His face lights up, and his head bobs with enthusiasm. “Hell, yes. Do that, and I’ll hang whatever you make.”
“Okay, I’ll make something.” The eagerness for my silly artwork makes me giddy and embarrassed at the same time. It isn’t the kind of work people would generally hang around their house. It’s simple fun for me, an outlet when I want to get in touch with my creative side.
I make eye contact with him again, and my nerves flare under his intent gaze. My feet shuffle backward toward the door. “Well, you’re set. I’ll just be going now.”
“Wait.” Syn’s voice rises slightly and stops me in my tracks. “What if I need something?”
It takes a full thirty seconds of silence before I realize he has nothing more to say. “Are you seriously asking me to stay and take care of you? Are you five?”
He pokes his bottom lip out, and my idiot self finds it adorable. I should be junk punching him, not fighting a giggle. “Please, I’ll never make it through on my own. I need your help.”
“The man-flu is a real thing,” I grumble, but relent. I round the bed and plop down on his other side. He grins triumphantly, snuggling down into the covers with a sigh.
“You’re my new favorite,” he murmurs as his eyes flutter closed.
I grin down at him and shake my head in exasperation. “Favorite what?”
“Person,” he says. His breath evens out soon after.
Even in my overtired state, I stay awake long after Syn falls asleep, my eyes free to roam over his body. It was a lapse in judgment on my part to touch him earlier. My plan to stay away flew from my mind the moment I discovered his piercings and the rest of his tattoos. My hands itch to trace every line of the pictures on his skin, but I don’t want him to wake up again. He looks peaceful and happy. I can’t help but be glad I agreed to stay and take care of him if he needs me.
These bastards better get over their crap soon, or I'll scream.
Syn was cute during the first night of his cold—dramatic and whiny, but cute nonetheless. The following morning, Marak woke up in the same condition as Syn. It sucked, but I took care of them both. It wasn’t a huge deal to add one person. When Maverick and Allistar joined the duo later the same night, I figured it wouldn't make any difference to run around for them when I already needed to go all over the place for Syn and Marak. I was wrong. As tough as these guys act on any given day, they're big stupid, jerk babies when they're sick. If anyone asked me, I’d say taking care of them at once was horrid.
To be honest with myself, I enjoy it. I like to help them feel better and be the one they need. It’s sick and twisted, but it is what it is.
"Taylor, can you bring me another water?" Marak's pathetic plea reaches my ears when I make it halfway up the stairs with my arms already full of soup for Allistar, a thermometer for Syn, and some medicine for Maverick. What I'd really like to do is throw the hot soup at Marak and go get a pedicure. Instead, I stomp back down the stairs and grab him the water he truly needs. The cough these guys caught is killer. It keeps them up all hours of the night and the amount of cough drops in the house dropped dangerously low. By the time I make it back to Marak’s room, I’ve exhausted every curse word I know and some I made up along the way.
Between the coughing, the sniffing, the fevers, and the whining, my week was crazy. It took the guys seven days to finally recover enough to take care of themselves. Somehow, I managed to get work done from my laptop wh
ile the guys slept, and my boss didn’t mind. When I wake Monday morning, with no more than a handful of hours of sleep in over a week, my head might explode if I move at all. It's anyone's guess whether I caught the bug or if it's from the lack of sleep for an entire week and weekend. It may also be caused by scurrying around like a crazy loon. The guys got lucky they're all ten times better today, or I'd never survive another day caring for all four of them at once. It’s their fault they’re all incredibly pathetic and adorable when they’re sick. If they had the decency to be gross monsters, it’d be easy to tell them to get their own shit and take their own temperatures.
"Taylor, if you don't hurry you'll be late for work." Syn's voice floating in from the hallway hits me like nails on a chalkboard. Realistically, he isn't talking above normal volume, but to my poor head, it sounds like he used a bullhorn next to my ear. Without opening my eyes, I know Syn enters my room and makes his way to my bedside. “Come on, lazy. You don’t want to get fired.”
In the future, I may come to regret my next move. However, at the moment, Syn completely deserves my elbow jutting out to nail him right in his private eye. He meant it as a joke when he called me lazy, but it still hurts after the week with them. It wasn’t completely my intention to immobilize him, but I call it a perk.
With Syn gasping for air on my bedroom floor, I toss the covers back and push myself out of bed. I ignore him and stomp out of my room then downstairs. The rest of the guys stand around the kitchen with their coffee. Reaching my destination, I pull the fridge door open and stare into the empty box. It isn’t completely empty, there’s some stupid shit like milk and butter in there. But there isn’t any Diet Coke... not a single can or bottle, not even an off-brand version. My head throbs too hard for me to even deal with this disaster at the moment. Now, if I don’t get relief soon, I might knock myself out with a frying pan.
“Taylor? You okay?” Allistar, ever the caring one, slides up to my side and puts his arm around my waist. For a second, I melt into him, but Syn thunders down the stairs. It pulls Allistar away from me. It only serves to piss me off more.
Syn doesn’t stop his pursuit until he stands face to face with me. “Why the fucking hell did you do that shit, again?”
“What’d she do, again?” Maverick straightens up, his accusing eyes dart at me. He probably assumes Syn and I goofed around, again, and I did something crazy. Still, my emotions run all over the place and his assumption I’m at fault hurts.
Syn spins around, his arms wildly in the air as he answers Maverick. “She nailed me in the balls again. I didn’t even do anything, besides wake her up for work.”
Marak frowns. “Taylor, what’d you hit him for?”
If I talk to them, I’ll either scream or cry. It’s better to ignore them and search the medicine cabinet downstairs for some pain relief. The only issue with my search is it comes up empty. Through the week the guys used up the supply of pain relievers. It’s the same story with my soda. I had plenty last Saturday, they kept me going all week. I ran out about two days ago and forgot to make a trip to the store last night when the guys were better. Even the coffee pot sits empty on the counter. The last of the coffee grounds were put into the pot last night, and it was set to auto-start this morning. With everyone holding their mugs, I know why it’s empty.
My focus remained on them all week. Make sure they didn’t spike fevers. Change their sheets and get laundry done, giving them clean sheets for the night. Feed them, bring them medicine, find tissues, the list goes on. And I’m paying for it now. The caffeine withdrawal might be the end of me.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Allistar pokes his head into the bathroom while I drop empty bottles to the counter.
“Do we have anymore Tylenol?” I bypass his question with my own.
He raises a brow in confusion but shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”
“I need some.” The comment is more to myself than Allistar, but he still nods his acknowledgment. His nod is followed by zero action, and I want to scream. Is it really that hard to help me search for a few pills? I spent a week taking care of them, bringing them everything they wanted and needed. All I want is a few Tylenol and a Diet Coke.
“Never mind, forget it.” I push past Allistar, then rush up the stairs to throw on my leggings and a big hoodie.
Shoving my wallet and phone into the pocket of my hoodie, I pull the hood up to block out some of the noise and light. My trip down the stairs is a lot lighter than my stomps up them. It may be the reason the guys don’t notice me and continue their conversation. I stay at the bottom of the stairs and listen. Their voices ring clear from my position.
“So, does she want us to go get her something?” Marak asks.
Allistar answers him, “I have no idea what we’d get.”
“Maybe we should leave her alone,” Syn suggests.
“If we don’t hurry up, we’ll all be late for work, and we just took a week off. We need to figure this shit out, fast.” Maverick’s irritated tone, along with the rest of the guys’ apparent disinterest in doing me a favor brings an ache to my chest. I shouldn’t want their help; I can take care of myself easily. Yet their indifference hits me hard in the chest.
Swiping a few stray tears from my cheeks, I turn in the opposite direction of the kitchen. The only keys on the hook belong to a fancy yellow sports car Allistar keeps in the garage. I’ve never witnessed him drive it because it’s under a cloth cover, but I managed a peek a while ago. If you ask me, owning a car you don’t use is idiotic, but right now, it serves me well. I grab the key and sneak out the garage door. After making quick work of the cover, I hop into the unbelievably expensive car and start it up.
The engine purrs to life as I push the button to open the garage door. Like a speed demon, I swing out of the garage and zoom down the street. I’ll get my own damn Tylenol and Diet Coke. Maybe even some chocolate and a new movie. Then, I can spend all day in bed and catch up on some much-needed sleep and caffeine. The only good news is I didn’t catch the plague from them. Though, I’m not sure which would be worse—the man-flu or my headache, which may end me.
17
Allistar
The conversation with the guys doesn’t go well. If the dark circles under her pretty hazel eyes and the way she rubbed her temples were any indication, Taylor’s miserable. We want to stay home and help her the way she helped us—the only problem being work. We spent a week out sick; we can’t all take more time off.
Marak growls, repeating himself for the third time, “Look, Maverick, I know you want to be the one to stay home with her. All I’m saying is you don’t get to make that decision. We need to ask her what she needs and wants.”
It’ll sting if Taylor gives me the brush off again now that I’m not sick. She’s pushed me away since our night in the hot tub. I waited for her to bring it up, and she never did. As badly as I want to talk to her about it, I worry I’ll scare her off. I didn’t plan for anything to happen, but damn if I don’t want it to happen again. Her body fit perfectly against mine.
The sex isn’t the only reason I want to pull her into my arms and never let go. She amazes me more every day we spend together. She gets along great with my best friends, my brothers. She’s kind and caring. Hell, she spent a week taking care of the four of us. I’m an ass for letting her, but I promised myself I’d make it up to her. I only hope she lets me. I want to take care of her, but I won’t push her.
All the arguing and bitching doesn’t get us anywhere. Taylor’s upstairs, not well for whatever reason, and she needs us. I turn away from the three of them, slip on my shoes, then grab my wallet. I won’t throw a fit if Taylor doesn’t want me to stick around, but I can at least grab her some damn medicine before I go to work. Grabbing my jacket from the hook, I turn to grab the keys to my Lamborghini. It isn’t often I get to drive her, but I’m not about to fight Maverick and Marak for their keys. The four of us generally share two cars though Syn has a bike and I have my Lamborghini.
“Fuck!” My heavy footfalls alert the guys of a problem, along with the shouts of Taylor’s name like she’s a child in trouble. If that girl took off without us, she’ll be in a whole shit ton of trouble. She’ll get handcuffed to me for the rest of her damn life.
Flinging her door open, I find an empty room. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What the hell, Allistar? What are you doing?” Maverick growls behind me. “You can’t just barge into a girl’s room—”
“She’s not here.” I spin around and shove Maverick out of my way to race down the stairs. “She took the Lamborghini. The keys are gone.”
“S-She wouldn’t,” Syn sputters.
Marak rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot if you think she wouldn’t.”
He’s right, too. Taylor was pissed off and hurting. We spent our time bitching over who should be the one to stay with her, and she left.
“What if someone finds her before we do?”
No more words need to be spoken. We all hustle to the truck, piling in. Maverick revs the engine, burning out the tires as he speeds down the driveway.
Syn taps a few buttons on his phone and blows out a relieved breath. “Okay, Mav. For once, I’m admitting you were right. Adding the tracker to her phone was genius. She’s at the grocery store on fifth.”
Maverick manages to speed through traffic in record time. He leaves a few angry drivers behind us when he ignores the red lights, but no one gets hurt. He swings into the parking lot, and the four of us search for my car. The bright yellow paint is easy to spot on the opposite side of the lot. The man in the black hoodie with his arms around Taylor’s waist, pulling her toward an SUV, is also easily spotted.
