Propping him up in a sitting position, sort of, she shifted around so his back was leaning against her chest. That way she was able to reach over and grab the glass of water waiting on the trunk. Working from behind him, she raised the two tablets to his mouth with her right hand as his head rested against her shoulder.
God, you smell good.
"OK, here. Take these. They'll get your fever down."
When she felt his mouth open, she pushed them in and raised the glass of water to his lips. Holding his head upright with her left hand, she held the glass in her right, watching over his shoulder so she wouldn't spill it all over him. "Come on now, babe. Drink up."
Oops.
At that, he raised his left hand, tilted the glass up and swallowed.
"Good job."
Switching the glass to her left hand meant letting go of his head, but since she had to return the glass to the trunk, it was a risk she was willing to take. As she leaned forward and did just that, he turned his body toward her as if aggravated with the interruption, forcing her back against the couch as he snuggled into her like she was a pillow. His pillow.
At least the glass was where it belonged.
Sara looked around her. The apartment was dark save for the glow coming from the street well below the bay window and the oven light in the kitchen. After she stretched one leg down the length of the couch on one side of him and propped the other up on the far edge of the trunk, she was actually quite comfortable.
And there was a Ken doll asleep in her arms.
Doing her best to drape the afghan around them both, she pressed her hand against Andrew's still hot cheek, knowing it would take a while for the meds to kick in. In the stillness of the moment, she looked down at what she could see of his face as she gently combed her fingers through his hair. Then, in a low soft voice, she started singing the song that was forever present on her shoulders and in her heart.
When she had finished, there was nothing left for her to do except exactly what the chorus instructed—close her eyes. So that's exactly what she did.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality
is finally better than your dreams."
—Dr. Seuss
Hours later, Sara awoke to the sound of her phone, tucked in her purse way over on the kitchen counter, chirping text after text. She couldn't feel her one arm below the elbow and her chest felt damp.
What the…?
She tried to sit up but felt something heavy pressing against her.
Oh, right. A gorgeous man.
Her movement seemed to stir him. Lifting his head from her, well, bosom, he blinked a few times before looking up at her.
"How ya feeling?" she whispered.
In a surprisingly swift move, he sat up looking confused and more than a little embarrassed. "I'm so sorry."
Of course. It was after all her, and she was so not the top choice of Ken dolls the world over.
"Don't worry about it," she mumbled.
The apartment was darker than it had been, the only light now coming from under the oven hood. She sat up and pulled her one leg out from behind him.
Wondering what time it was, she tried pushing back the deflated feeling that threatened to drag her down with it.
She picked up the glass of water still sitting on the trunk, handed it to Andrew, and instructed, "Finish this, and I'll get you some more. Or would you prefer tea?"
She retrieved her phone and checked her messages. Five texts. All from Nancy.
Gah. Karaoke.
It was after eleven. She had missed it.
After shooting off a quick text of apology, she shut her phone off and took the empty glass from the patient.
"Water's fine. Thanks."
She filled it and returned to the couch where he had moved to the opposite end and was facing her with the blanket still wrapped around him. "I don't know what happened. Last thing I remember was coming home to take a nap."
Sara filled him in on her adventures in nursing, sticking with the facts, excluding all else, especially her use of the word babe and his own private performance of her favorite James Taylor song.
Pulling his mouth into sort of a smile, he whispered, "Sorry if I spoiled your evening."
At this, Sara let out a chuckle. "No worries." She thought of the guys from the Sports section lording over their apparent victory at the bar. What's a little friendly competition if the other team didn't get to win every once in a while?
"How ya feeling?" she asked again, resisting the urge to reach over and feel his forehead.
Andrew ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair and looked at it with disgust. "Like I need a shower."
Nodding toward the bathroom, she urged, "Go for it. A nice steamy shower might do you some good."
While he was doing that, she took the afghan and stuffed it in the washing machine with some detergent and softener. Lifting the lid of the trunk-slash-coffee-table, she pulled out a big thick fleece blanket and set it where he had been sitting and then changed into her snowflake-patterned pajama bottoms and an old, gray, long-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with the Green Bay Packers logo.
So sexy.
She was looking out the bay window, focusing on nothing in particular when she saw Andrew return and sit back down on the couch as far away as possible from where she had been sitting.
Plopping down again, she noticed that he had changed into different sweatpants and a T-shirt that had MPD in big block letters on the front. Pointing to it with a frown, she asked, "More pudding, dammit?"
With a hearty laugh, he said, "No. Minneapolis Police Department."
When he didn't offer an explanation, she asked, "And you're wearing that why?"
"Oh, well, my dad gave it to me. He's on the force."
Ah, two cops in the family.
"How 'bout your mom?"
"Same as me. Up in a suburban Minneapolis parish. Where I grew up."
"Huh."
He pointed to her T-shirt. "I wouldn't wear that outside here if I were you."
Sara looked down at the logo. "Oh, no worries. I'm not big into football. In fact, I'm not big into any sport."
Andrew pressed his lips together. "Yeah. Me neither."
Gah. Enough with the small talk.
She looked down at her un-manicured nails, trying to think of something to say that would break the ice.
"So, 'Close Your Eyes'?"
He said it so softly, she barely heard him.
Whipping her head up, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "What did you say?"
"That's the name of it?"
"What?"
He reached back and patted his shoulder.
So he had heard her singing to him. Great. Her secret was out. Well, one of them anyway.
Ice. Broken.
As long as he didn't catch the babe slip too.
Feeling her flight-or-fight instinct kick in, she shifted around and picked up her phone.
I wonder what Nancy's doing now?
Andrew edged a bit closer to her. "I don't think I ever heard it before. It's really lovely."
Blinking back the moisture welling up in her eyes that she was too tired to cry out, she explained, "It's pretty old. The official title is, 'You Can Close Your Eyes.' James Taylor. Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon."
She reached for a tissue from a box on the chest, not noticing that he moved to the cushion right next to hers.
Oh.
"Tell me."
Bristling, she turned to him and asked, "Tell you what?"
With the softest of touches, he brushed the bangs from her eyes and stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking at her like he had just unearthed a piece of rare china.
"Why it makes you cry."
Sara took in a ragged breath.
Tell him everything, and he'll be outta here by morning.
She looked into his eyes, so kind and warm.
Don't tell him, and st
ay an emotional train wreck.
While neither option appealed to her, in that split second, she made the decision to compromise.
"My mom," she started before clearing her throat. "She used to sing it to me at bedtime."
Andrew said nothing, so she continued. "She, um, left when I was eight." She stared off into some distant memory. "Didn't even say good-bye."
Feeling his hand knead her shoulder, she tilted her head toward it and said, "So there you have it."
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault."
"No, but I know how it feels to lose a parent. Both of mine died when I was six."
Horrified, she turned to him. "Oh, how awful. What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
He raised both eyebrows and said, "Plane crash. In the middle of a cornfield. A friend of my dad's had just gotten his pilot's license and offered to take them up for a ride. All I know is the plane took off from some little rural airstrip, and had just started its ascent when it nosedived."
With his eyes locked on hers, he added, "No survivors."
Sara covered her mouth with both hands before exhaling. "That's awful. I'm so sorry."
Two dead parents trump a woman with a bad case of wanderlust who abandons her kids any day.
He just shrugged and looked away.
"I seem to recall you mentioning a brother?"
At this, his face lit up. "Yeah. Sam. He's the one here in Chicago with me. Then I've got three other brothers and two sisters back in Minneapolis."
Sara didn't know what to say except, "Wow."
"Well, yeah, it started out with just me and my brother, but we ended up with the Benets who eventually adopted the two of us. It was a blessing really. Still is."
"Can I ask you something else?"
"Sure."
"Your tattoo."
He gave her a devilish smile. "Yeah?"
Feeling her cheeks flame, Sara grimaced. "I really didn't get a good look at it."
At this, he moved a hand to the waistband of his sweats and asked, "Wanna see it again?"
Through an embarrassed smile, she spoke softly. "Maybe later. Just tell me. What does it say?"
"McGuigan. It's my birth surname."
"Ah. When did you get it?"
"On my eighteenth birthday."
"Were your adoptive parents all right with that?"
Andrew nodded. "My dad went with me. Had mine and my brother's names tattooed on his arm under the rest of the kids' names."
With a grin pulling at one side of her mouth, Sara whispered, "Your dad sounds like a pretty cool guy."
"Yeah, he's pretty great."
Feeling better now that the conversation was not about her and her tales of woe, Sara stood up. "I'm gonna get a glass of wine. Can I get you anything? You must be starving."
"Nah, I'm good."
She returned with a glass half full of Shiraz, intent on keeping the focus off of her. "So, it must be great having such a big family."
"Oh, yeah. It is. How about you? Any siblings?"
Crap.
"Uh, yeah. One. "
When she didn't say any more, he prodded. "Brother, sister?"
"Brother." Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "And I miss him more than words can say."
Andrew just sat watching her, waiting for more.
Taking a long pull of her wine, she explained, "We, uh, had a bit of a falling out. A couple of years back."
"That's too bad."
She stared into her glass, mesmerized by the way the light from the kitchen illuminated the liquid within. "It was my fault," she heard herself say. "I just can't bring myself to go back."
"Sorry if I'm crossing a line here, but does this have anything to do with the nickname you won't tell me about?"
Sara took a deep breath, wondering how it was that she was sharing more with Andrew in the space of one hour than she ever shared with Jer in their time together.
Must be the wine-induced Tourette's.
She looked into his eyes that were boring into her with both patience and concern.
"Trouble."
He frowned. "Trouble?"
"My nickname. Pop called me that for as long as I can remember." With a rueful laugh, she looked back down at her glass. "When I was little, I actually thought my real name was Trouble Cleff. Well, until one of the nuns at my grade school caught me introducing myself to the other kids that way." She looked back at Andrew with a weak smile. "She set me straight, but the name stuck."
The two sat there quietly for a few minutes before Andrew pulled the blanket up around his shoulders as he yawned. "Well, I don't know about you, but I feel like I could sleep for another twelve hours."
"Oh. Sure."
Sara set her glass down and pressed the back of her hand against his cheek. "Yeah, your fever's coming back. Let me get you some more Tylenol."
When she got back, she stood in front of him, watching him pop the pills. "Tell you what. You take the bed tonight. You'll be more comfortable there and, well, I'm gonna be up for a while."
Drowning myself in the rest of that wine and a little Ray LaMontagne.
The patient looked up at her. "Ya sure?"
Nodding, she replied, "Absolutely." She started stepping away. "Just let me go in and change the sheets first."
"Oh, don't worry about it. You've done enough."
She turned and watched as he started to stand up, still clutching the blanket around him. "Man, you really must be sick if you don't care about—"
Sara would've finished what she was saying if the ailing Ken doll hadn't grasped her hand and cut her off with a most unexpected request.
"Come with me?"
It launched a heated debate in her warring subconscious, on one side of which her inner wild child was shouting, "Go for it!" while the parochial-school-girl side growled, "Do. Not. Go. There."
She sucked in a breath, trying to conjure images of Sister Marcus smacking her ruler against her open palm or twirling her rosary over her head like a bolo. When those images failed to quell the side of her that wanted to raise his temperature more than any fever could, she tried stating the obvious.
"But you're sick."
With a gentle squeeze of his hand on hers, he asked, "Is that the only reason?"
Knowing this was not a question to be taken lightly, she cursed the wine for stealing any and all coherent thoughts from her brain.
Arching an eyebrow, she quipped, "Well, maybe you should try inviting me again when you're feeling better." And then cringed.
Can't believe I just said that.
Apparently, the wine had swapped out her coherent thoughts with a newfound ability to talk like a saucy bitch.
Tugging the blanket tighter around him, he stepped closer to her and whispered, "Good idea."
Go me.
"But tonight," he continued with his eyes growing glassier by the second, "I just want to sleep with you. Really sleep. No fooling around."
Well, damn.
Sara just stared at him a minute. "Well when you put it that way…"
* * *
"So what did you do?" Mattie gasped at Ferndell's the next morning before shooting off her breakfast order like she was a bidder on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. "Veggie omelet, egg whites only, fruit on the side, whole wheat toast, unbuttered."
The waitress looked at Sara who absently said, "The same." Then, remembering that she skipped dinner the night before, put her hand on the waitress's forearm and continued, "But regular eggs, hash browns and fruit on the side, and slather the toast with butter. Oh, and can I have a jumbo blueberry muffin to go, please?"
After Aubrey ordered a bowl of baked cinnamon-apple oatmeal, the waitress left them alone and Sara finally replied, "I did it. I slept with him. All night long."
"But, Sara," Aubrey scolded, "you hardly know this guy. And he was sick."
Ignoring her phobic friend, Sara looked into the distance over her head and added, "Yeah, but i
t was so…intimate. I've never done that before."
Mattie's face spread into a devilish grin. "Oh really? Care to share?"
Her question kicked Sara off the cloud she was riding on. "What?"
"What have you never done before?"
"Oh," after blinking a few times, she propped her elbow on the table and rested the side of her face in her hand. "Slept with a guy without having sex first."
Mattie smiled and nodded. "It's pretty great, isn't it?"
When Sara raised her eyebrow at her, she bit down on her lip. With a hushed voice, she explained, "Nick and I agreed to wait until after we're married." Then she quickly added, "Please don't tell Nancy."
Overshare.
Sara jutted her chin out. "Wow, Matt. That's great. I—wow. I didn't know couples actually did that anymore."
"I think that's awesome, Mattie," Aubrey said as she tucked her butter blonde hair behind her ears. "If I ever find anybody again, that's what I'd do, and if he didn't want to then I'd know that he's not the right guy for me."
Hugging them with her eyes, Mattie reached out and patted both of their hands. "You guys are the best."
"That being said," Sara laughed, "if it were me, I would've dragged his ass to City Hall the minute he proposed."
"Tell me about it," Mattie chuckled. "But, we've waited this long. What's a couple more months?"
Sara indulged herself in the memory of her and Andrew's torrid night of snuggling, remembering how lovely it was to wake up with his arms wrapped around her.
There's no way in hell I'm waiting months.
After their food arrived and they'd started eating, Mattie asked her, "So who is this guy anyway?"
Sara set her fork down on her plate and hunched her shoulders up. "Actually, Matt, I think you two have already met."
Mattie stopped mid-chew. "What do you mean?" she mumbled.
Pulling both eyebrows up under her bangs, she announced, "He's the music director at St. Matthias. I believe he'll be playing at your wedding?"
As Mattie and Aubrey started peppering her with questions, Sara heard herself clipping out one-word replies, telling them as little as possible because she knew full well that a relationship with a Ken doll—especially one who worked in a church for God's sake—was doomed from the very start. Still, she was having a hard time not getting sucked into the excited swirl her pals were generating—not unlike the girls she'd see congregating at each other's lockers in high school, talking about the boys they had crushes on. She wouldn't have been surprised to find that her face was spotted with zits and her teeth were once again covered in braces by the time they were through with her.
Key Change: an Assignment: Romance novel Page 14
