Out Of Line

by Jen McLaughlin

  “Why are you doing this?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s not in your job description, is it?”

  “Knock it the hell off.” I flexed my jaw, tossing the washcloth in the corner of the bathroom. I picked her up. “I’m taking care of you, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder, her hand once again over my heart—which traitorously sped up. “I don’t know why you could possibly want to.”

  “It should be obvious. If it’s not, I’m not sure what to say.” I lowered her to the bed and lifted the blankets until she was covered. “I’m going to go grab you some medicine. I’ll be right back.”

  I headed for the bathroom and closed the door behind me. After turning on the shower, which I hoped would be loud enough to drown out the sound of what I was about to do, I fell to my knees in front of the porcelain god. I flushed the toilet, and within seconds my own stomach emptied itself.

  By the time I was finished, I felt as shaky and weak as she’d looked. I flushed again, then hopped in the shower to make it look as if I’d showered instead of ralphed. I allowed myself a minute to quickly scrub down, brush my teeth, and throw a towel around my waist. Opening up the cabinet, I pulled out the Pepto-Bismol I’d bought a few weeks ago after I’d had some bad tuna.

  I took a dose for myself behind the closed door, and then came out of the bathroom with hers. She was curled up on her side, her eyes open but sleepy. I sat down beside her and held out the medicine. “Here. Take this.”

  “Thank you.” She sat up slowly, her gaze drifting over me. “Can you please lose the towel?”

  I tensed. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to see you half naked.” She licked her lips, her stare somewhere around the level of my abs. “Not anymore.”

  Liar. “Sure.”

  I stood up, dropping the towel to the floor. Her indrawn breath almost made me crack a smile, but I forced myself to remain dead serious. Hell, I even stretched my arms over my head, letting her look her fill for however long she’d like.

  “Finn.”

  I looked over at her, butt-assed naked. “Yeah?”

  “You’re naked.”

  “I know.” I looked down at myself. “You said to lose the towel. You also said you didn’t want to see me half naked anymore, so here you go.”

  She set down her empty cup on the nightstand with a trembling hand, but her lips quirked as if a smile was trying to escape, but she didn’t want to let it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her smile lighting up my life until now. “When I said ‘lose the towel,’ I meant put on some clothes. And by not wanting to see you half naked, I meant clothed.”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “I guess I could get dressed.”

  I crossed the room wearing my birthday suit, then opened my top drawer. She let out a strangled groan, but I heard her lay back down. Did she face the other way so she wouldn’t have to see me anymore? Or was she watching? I dared a glance over my shoulder and quickly turned back around.

  Oh, she was watching, all right.

  I slowly stepped into a pair of boxers and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts. After I slid those on, I turned to face her. My stomach was a little bit steadier now. “Better?”

  She cleared her throat. “Shirt?”

  “Nah. I never wear one at home. You know that.” I sat down beside her, reaching out to feel her forehead. It was blazing hot. “Shit, you have a fever.”

  She blinked at me. “Yeah, I’ve had one all day. Woke up with one.”

  “And you went to school why?”

  She laid back down, cuddling into my bed as if she belonged there. And she did. She really fucking did. “I can’t afford to miss classes right now.”

  “You can’t afford to neglect your health either.”

  She rolled her eyes. Even sick and wasted, she had enough energy to give me sass and attitude. I loved it. Hell, I loved her, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise to me. Not after all the moping I’d been doing ever since I lost her.

  “My mom is all the way across the country and I’m single. Who am I supposed to get to take care of me?” she asked.

  She didn’t have to be single if she would give me another chance, but I didn’t point that out. “Me.”

  “I can’t call you for help anymore.” She stared up at me. “We’re not even really friends.”

  My heart wrenched, but I refused to show her how much it hurt for me to follow her rules. I pushed off the bed, heading into the kitchen. “I’ll go make you some chicken broth.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She rolled over and curled her knees into the fetal position. “Not even in the slightest.”

  I didn’t stop walking. “You need something in your stomach, or it’ll just hurt more when you puke.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she called out, her voice shaking. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “Yeah, I do. And no, you won’t.”

  Because if I didn’t take care of her…

  Who would?

  I leaned back in the couch, holding the bowl in the crook of my lap. As I sipped down the chicken broth, I felt immensely better before it even hit my stomach. But even if it hadn’t made me feel better, it was quite easily the most delicious soup I’d ever had. It didn’t even have anything in it. Finn sat beside me on the couch, eating his own plain broth. He still hadn’t put on a shirt, and I still hadn’t stopped thinking about touching him again, even though I felt like I was on death’s door.

  I wouldn’t follow through with my thoughts, but it didn’t stop me from wanting.

  He had a way of touching me that made me forget all about the outside world. All about how much he’d betrayed me, and how much I was supposed to hate him. I shouldn’t be here, eating his soup and using his bed. I shouldn’t be near him at all.

  I still cared about him too much.

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I set down my bowl. “That was really good. Thanks.”

  He finished his own bowl then set it next to mine. “It was my mom’s recipe. My dad gave it to me when I was old enough to cook it myself. It always made me feel better when I was sick, so it seemed appropriate.”

  “Thank you,” I said softly, oddly moved that he’d made me the same soup his mother made him. I wanted to hug him. To take away the brief shadows of grief I saw before he looked away.

  He tugged at his brown hair. “Don’t mention it. How about we get you back in bed now?”

  I swallowed hard. Even the thought of crawling back into his bed sent shivers down my spine. The things we had done there… “I should go back to my dorm.”

  “Why bother? You won’t get any sleep there with Marie. She has company.” He pinned me down with his stare, his bright blue eyes on me. “I promise I won’t touch you. You’ll be perfectly safe here.”

  He didn’t need to touch me to make me want him. That was the scary part. “Still.”

  “No.” He stood, his jaw ticking. “I tried this the nice way, but I’ll put it simply: You’re not leaving. End of story.”

  Okay, that took away any lingering desire to kiss him. Then again, his arrogance usually did. “You don’t own me. You’re not my dad, and—”

  “No, but I work for him, as you’ve reminded me every chance you get.” He picked up his phone and waved it in front of my eyes. “And I’m not afraid to call him and get him down here. I’ll tell him you’re refusing medical treatment from the hospital.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  He raised a brow and started typing. I stood up and tried to snatch it out of his hands. My stomach protested the fast movement with a loud gurgle. “Stop it. Don’t you dare call him.”

  “Th
en get in the fucking bed.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I can tell you’re making yourself even sicker by arguing with me. Just lay down.”

  “I’m fine.” My stomach twisted again, and I clutched it tight. Oh God, I was going to…

  “Yeah. Sure you are,” he drawled. He picked me up, and I closed my eyes as the room spun. I should point out I could walk on my own, but I didn’t want to open my mouth right now. “Bathroom or bed?”

  “Bathroom,” I gasped, the vomit trying to escape even with the single word. “And leave me alone this time. I don’t want you to see—” I broke off and covered my mouth.

  He made it to the toilet in record time. “Not leaving.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but the torrential vomiting pouring out of my system swallowed up the words. By the time I was finished, I felt more like the stuff floating in the toilet than a person. I hadn’t even realized Finn held my hair until he released it, heading for the washcloths again.

  Why was he being so…nice? So darn courteous and thoughtful and perfect? He needed to open his mouth and say something annoying really quickly before I fell for him all over again. He returned with a wet washcloth. He looked sweaty and a little pale himself. What was wrong with him?

  “Here,” he murmured, wiping my face down as he did last time.

  I closed my eyes, tears threatening to escape me at his tender touch. “Why are you being so nice to me? And why are you shaking?”

  “Because I care, even if it hurts.” He tossed the washcloth aside and rose to his feet. “Do you want to shower?”

  “Yes.” I opened my eyes. He was leaning against the sink clutching his stomach. As soon as he saw I watched him, he straightened and headed for the faucet. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said dismissively. “Just worry about yourself.”

  I frowned. “Are you sick too?”

  “No.” The shower turned on, and he stuck his hand under the stream of water. Seemingly satisfied with the temperature, he went back to the sink and pulled out a light blue toothbrush. He opened the case and set it down on the sink. “Here. Use this.”

  I stood up and he grabbed my elbow. As if he was ready to catch me if I fell. But that was his job, wasn’t it? I couldn’t read anything more into it than that. “I don’t have any clothes to change into.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you here alone to go get some.”

  “I’ll be fine alone.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  I sighed, but inwardly I smiled. He seemed so worried about me, and it was hard not to be affected by his concern. No matter how stupid that made me. “I’ll wear these again.” I looked down at the dirty, wrinkled clothes. The ones that probably smelled worse than I did. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “No, you won’t.” He let go of me. “I’ll go get a T-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear. They’ll be big, but it’s better than what you’ve got on.”

  Wear his clothes? Somehow that didn’t seem like a grand idea. His scent was already ingrained in my memory. Did I really need to wear it too? “But—”

  “No buts.” He headed for the door. “Just get in the shower. I’ll push the clothes in through the door once you’re in.”

  The door shut in my face, making me flinch. I took off my clothes and stepped into the water. Closing my eyes, I took a long breath. This is exactly what I’d needed—a fresh shower. A clean start. Hopefully the puking portion of my illness would be over now, and I could actually sleep.

  I turned to search for the shampoo, but stopped mid-reach. Next to his manly shampoo he had apologized for last time I’d been here rested a fruity, girly shampoo and conditioner. When had he put that in there? Back when we were “dating”? Or was it for another girl? Even as I thought it, my heart screamed no. I didn’t think he was seeing anyone else. He’d never given me a reason to believe he was. For all intents and purposes, the only woman he ever talked to was me. Just me.

  But only because he has to, my inner voice so rudely reminded me.

  I poured the shampoo into my palm, then scrubbed my scalp a bit harder than strictly necessary. Maybe that would make my smarter, annoying inner voice shut up. But instead, it simply reminded me of the last time I’d been in this shower. I hadn’t been alone, and Finn had washed my hair far gentler than I was doing to myself. He’d been tender and loving and kind.

  And then the next day, I’d found out who he was.

  By the time I was out of the shower, I felt better physically, but much worse emotionally. After I dried off, I padded over barefoot to the toilet, where he’d apparently left a folded up T-shirt and a pair of boxers for me. I recognized the T-shirt. It was the red one I’d been wearing the day I found out who Finn really was.

  I had washed it and set it on his porch step weeks ago.

  Of course, that was after I’d slept with it on for a week. I hadn’t wanted to give it back. It had smelled like him, even after a washing. He hadn’t said anything to me about me bringing it back, but he hadn’t had a chance to say anything at all until today. I hadn’t even seen him in three weeks. Part of me had wondered if he’d quit and gone home.

  That same annoying part of me was thrilled at being proved wrong.

  I pulled the shirt over my head, inhaling deeply. Had he known giving me this shirt would affect me so deeply? Or had he just blindly reached in and grabbed the first thing he saw? Probably the latter. I picked up the toothbrush, did a quick cleaning, then steeled myself to face him again.

  I opened the door and peeked out. He sat on the couch, texting someone. His girlfriend? My dad? The freaking Pope? Who knew. “Hey.”

  He clicked his screen off and stood up. He still didn’t wear a shirt. Probably just to taunt me with the muscles I would never touch again. “You look like you feel better.”

  “I do.” I crossed the room and climbed into the bed, tucking myself in. “Thank you.”

  He stood up and came to my side. Gently, he pressed his hand to my cheek. “You feel cooler too,” he murmured, his blue eyes examining me.

  Looking for signs of…what?

  “Good.”

  “Yeah. Good,” he said.

  We fell awkwardly silent, neither one of us so much as moving. Daring to be the first to break the hold we had over one another. His phone buzzed, making me jump. He dropped his gaze and checked the message. I swallowed back the jealousy threatening to take hold. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Hm?” He typed a quick reply. “No one.”

  “Is it her shampoo in there?”

  That got his attention. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed. “Whose?”

  “You tell me.” I touched my damp hair. “There’s girl shampoo in there. Are you seeing someone?”

  “What? No.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe I’d asked him that. “I got that for you, back when we were…well, you know.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.” He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s where the toothbrush came from too. After that first night, I went shopping while you were at school. I thought that maybe you were going to be spending a lot of time here, so I wanted you to have what you needed. But then…well, you found out who I was, and that was that.”

  “That was that,” I repeated, thoroughly and utterly confused. Nothing about this man added up. He acted as if he really cared about me and wanted to be with me, but he worked for my father. And he was a liar. And manipulative. And bossy. And annoying.

  And irresistible.

  There were a million things I wanted to say, and at least a million reasons why I shouldn’t say them. So I said nothing at all. When I remained silent, he shifted uneasily on the bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. You can have the bed.”

  “Don�
��t be ridiculous.”

  He arched a brow. “How am I being ridiculous?”

  “You can sleep in the bed too.” I flushed, searching for the right words to make it look like I offered because of practicality. I couldn’t let him know how much I ached to sleep in his arms again. Or how horribly I’d been sleeping ever since we had broken up. Or how I missed him so much it hurt. “It’s not like we’ve never, well, you know. Worse things have been done in this bed than sleeping together.”

  “Worse?”

  “Crap.” Mental facepalm. “Not that it was bad or anything—what we did. I mean, you know it wasn’t.”

  His lips twitched. “Do I?”

  I covered my face. “I’m done trying to talk.”

  He laughed and pulled my hands down. “Relax, you’re fine.”

  “No. I’m not fine.” I looked at him and his laughter faded away. “I’m not fine at all.”

  He swallowed hard. “Carrie…”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.” I rolled over on my side. “Just turn out the light. I’m tired.”

  After what felt like an hour, he finally turned off the light. I released the breath I’d been holding, willing my racing heart to calm down. As he lowered himself on the bed, keeping above the covers, he also let out a deep whoosh of air.

  He remained blessedly silent. I didn’t know if he went right to sleep, because as soon as I felt him next to me, I zonked out. When I woke up in the morning, he was gone. My clothes were washed and folded nicely at the bottom of the bed.

  A note rested on top of it. I opened it with trepidation. What would he say? What could he say?

  I’m sorry.

  --Finn

  That’s it. Just three little words. And yet, they were more than enough.

  Two days later, I leaned against the outside of Carrie’s dorm, my eyes on the building she was currently in. I knew exactly who it belonged to, and I also knew how much I hated that she was inside of it. With the man she should have fallen for all along.