Bad Romeo

by Leisa Rayven

  “Wait, Elissa! I need your address.”

  “You don’t have it?”

  I sigh. “No. I’ve never been to your apartment.”

  I can practically hear her incredulity. “Are you freaking kidding me? In all the time you two have been hanging out, he never took you there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Let me guess, that’s one of the things the fight was about?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “My brother’s a dick.”

  Yes, but I want him to be my dick.

  “Well,” Elissa says, “Ruby knows where we live. Do you think she’d drive you?”

  Ruby rolls her eyes dramatically and throws her arms up in defeat.

  “Yeah, I think I can convince her.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Cassie. I really owe you for this.”

  “You really, really do.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ruby pulls up in front of a well-kept apartment building. The whole trip I’ve been praying that Holt’s at death’s door, because that’s the only explanation for why he hasn’t called that doesn’t make my chest hurt.

  “Their apartment is number four,” Ruby says as she points to the second floor. “I’ll wait here just in case he’s not sick and you murder him. I can’t go to prison as an accessory. I’m too pretty.”

  I get out and head up to his apartment. The building isn’t super- modern, but it’s clean and stylish. The polar opposite of mine.

  I reach the top of the stairs and find number four, then take a deep breath before knocking firmly three times.

  There’s silence from inside.

  I knock again, louder and more insistent. Again there’s nothing, and the little grain of hurt I’ve carried inside me since our fight blossoms into a full-blown ache.

  He’s out.

  Possibly with another girl.

  Possibly having the no-strings-attached orgasms he used to have with me.

  I push down my pain.

  I’m about to leave, when I hear a noise on the other side of the door. There’s muffled shuffling, then a bang, followed by a whispered, “Fuck!” When I turn back, the door opens a crack to reveal a bleary- eyed and disheveled Holt squinting at me in confusion.

  “Taylor?” His voice is hoarse, and so deep it sounds like Barry White on steroids. “What are you doing here?”

  An enormous wave of relief washes over me.

  “Oh God, Holt, you’re actually sick! Truly, disgustingly sick!”

  He frowns and shivers as he leans against the doorframe. “You came all the way down here to gloat? ‘Cause honestly, that’s just mean.”

  “No, sorry,” I say, composing myself as I take in his greasy hair and sweaty face. “Elissa asked me to come and check in. You weren’t answering your phone, and she was worried.”

  He coughs loudly, causing a horrible rattle to echo in his chest.

  “It’s just a cold,” he croaks as he leans more heavily against the wall. “I’ll be okay.”

  I place my palm against his forehead. He’s burning up, and the dark circles under his eyes make it look like he hasn’t slept in days.

  “You’re not okay. You have a fever. Have you taken anything for it?”

  “I ran out of Tylenol,” he says, then coughs again. “I think I just need to sleep.”

  He closes his eyes and stumbles a little, and I rush to support him. He’s only wearing a thin T-shirt and cotton boxers, and even though he’s clammy and hot to the touch, he’s shivering.

  “Come on,” I say, and guide him inside to sit on the couch. “Sit down for a minute.” There’s a blanket on the back of the couch, so I grab it and drape it across his shoulders. He pulls it around himself as he lies down and closes his eyes. His teeth chatter.

  “Ethan?”

  “Hmmm?” He’s barely awake.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, okay? We need supplies.”

  He mumbles something unintelligible as I run around his apartment to take a quick inventory of his kitchen and bathroom, before racing downstairs to Ruby, who’s still waiting in the car. I give her a list of things to pick up at the drugstore and ask her to hurry. When I get back to the apartment, Ethan’s where I left him, mumbling and groaning.

  His fever is bad. Until Ruby gets back with some Tylenol, I’ll have to try to get his temperature down. I once had to care for my dad when he’d gotten pneumonia while Mom was out of town at a yoga retreat. I know the procedures pretty well.

  “Ethan, can you sit up for me?”

  He coughs before struggling into a sitting position. His chest doesn’t sound good.

  “I think you have a chest infection. You need to see a doctor.”

  “No,” he says in a raspy voice. “The stuff in my throat is green. Bacterial. Doc will just prescribe antibiotics, and I have some in the bathroom, in the cabinet behind the mirror.”

  “You have antibiotics just lying around the house?”

  “Dad’s a pharmacist.”

  “Oh.”

  I go to the bathroom and retrieve the pills. I read the label as I head back to Ethan.

  “It says here you’re supposed to take these with food. Have you eaten anything today?”

  He pulls the blanket around himself and shakes his head. “Stomach doesn’t feel good.”

  “Well, Ruby is out getting you some soup, so maybe we’d better wait to take these until she gets back.”

  He shivers as he nods. When I press my palm against his forehead, he closes his eyes and leans into my hand.

  I press the backs of my fingers to his flushed cheek. “Do you feel strong enough to take a shower? It’ll help cool you down.”

  He opens his eyes and looks at me, staring for a moment before whispering, “Cassie, you don’t have to do this.” His voice sounds so husky it makes my eyes water.

  “I know, but I want to.”

  I hold my hands out and help pull him to his feet. He sways for a few seconds before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He shivers against me as we slowly walk into his bathroom. I sit him down on the closed toilet before turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature.

  When I turn back to him, my heart aches at how miserable he looks. He’s hunched over his knees, breathing heavily and gripping the blanket around his shoulders.

  “Come on. This will help you feel better.”

  I peel the blanket off and drop it on the floor before tugging his T-shirt over his head. His chest and shoulders are flushed, and when I press my hand against him, he’s burning hot. He wraps his arms around himself. His skin prickles with goose bumps as I coax him into standing.

  “Do you need me to help with your boxers?” I ask and rub his upper arms to keep him warm.

  He shakes his head, and it kind of creeps me out that even when he’s as sick as a dog, the sight of him shirtless still does crazy things to me.

  “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be right outside. If you get dizzy, just sit down and call to me. I’ll be in here in a second, okay?”

  He nods, and I give him a small smile before closing the door behind me.

  A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the front door. When I pull it open, Ruby’s there with two bags of supplies. She heads straight into the kitchen and begins unpacking them.

  “I got him several types of soup, as well as some bread, because when the fever breaks he’s going to be hella hungry. There’s some pineapple juice to help clear the mucus, and I also got Gatorade for rehydration.”

  “Good thinking.”

  She finishes unpacking the groceries and moves on to the bag from the drugstore. “There’s Tylenol and Advil, plus a decongestant that will totally knock him out and help him sleep.”

  A huge coughing fit echoes down the hallway, and Ruby screws up her face in disgust. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to leave now. Mucus of any kind makes me ralph. You’d better get back to your disgusting patient before he coughs up a lung.”

  I laugh an
d walk her to the door.

  “You staying here tonight?” she asks as she steps out into the hallway.

  “Yeah, unless he has a miraculous recovery in the next eight hours. That okay?”

  “Sure, as long as you don’t molest him in his sleep.”

  “Ruby, you act as if I have zero self-control around him.” She stares at me and purses her lips. I glare. “Shut up.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You judged me with your eyes. I’m telling them to shut up.”

  “Are you going to be able to cope with being alone with him overnight?” she asks. “Or do I have to make you a chastity belt out of aluminum foil?”

  “Ruby, there are two reasons nothing is going to happen between us. One, he’s really sick and, yes, disgusting.” I neglect to mention that I would still totally do him. “And two, I’ve drawn a line in the sand as far as our relationship goes, and until he’s willing to own up to his feelings toward me, I don’t intend to cross it. I do have some pride, you know.”

  “Yeah, but not much.”

  “Again, shut up.”

  She hugs me, and I can feel her smiling against my shoulder.

  “Could you call Elissa?” I ask. “Let her know what’s going on?”

  “Sure. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  After she leaves, I head back into Holt’s bedroom. I knock on the bathroom door before opening it a crack.

  “Hey, you okay in there?”

  There’s a pause and a wet cough. “Yeah. What I’m coughing up looks like something out of a horror movie, but the steam is loosening up my chest a bit.” He’s losing his voice, but I guess it’s to be expected after the amount of coughing he’s just done.

  “Want to get out?”

  “Soon. Give me a minute.”

  I don’t mean to, but I glance through the door and inhale sharply when I see his naked back. His shoulders are straining as he leans his forearms on the wall.

  Oh, God.

  Naked Holt.

  Naked and wet.

  I look down to his very fine ass.

  God help me.

  Oh, yeah, Ruby, I’ll be fine with him overnight. I can control myself. Sure.

  I can’t drag myself away from the water sluicing over his muscles. “Idiot.”

  He turns his head. “Did you say something?”

  “Nope. Just talking to myself.” While ogling your incredible ass.

  I quickly look away and train my focus on his bed. The sheets are twisted and crumpled, and look kind of damp.

  I close the door and set about stripping them. While I remake the bed, I try really hard to not think about the glory of his back, legs, and ass, and how they might look sprawled out on the fresh sheets.

  As I work, I look around his room. It’s messy but not in a gross way. There are haphazard piles of books and DVDs on his desk, as well as a mess of paper and his laptop, and there’s a sprawl of video games on the floor near the latest Xbox. Other than that, it’s pretty clean and dust free. Not the worst boy’s room I’ve ever seen.

  I grab a fresh T-shirt from his dresser and am in the middle of spending way too long in his underwear drawer when the shower turns off. With more than a little guilt, I grab the nearest pair of boxers and shut the drawer.

  When I hear the bathroom door swing open, I turn to find Holt wearing only a towel, a halo of steam emerging from behind him.

  I’m internally horrified as a Beyoncé song starts playing in my head and everything goes into slow motion. Water droplets glisten on his muscles, and I feel my mouth drop open as I watch one travel from his clavicle all the way down to his belly button.

  Goddamn. Gorgeous.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice almost completely gone.

  “Hey!” I snap out of my daydream and wave the fresh clothes at him a little too enthusiastically. “These are for you. How was your shower? You’re still wet. You should dry yourself. Not with the towel around your waist of course, because then you’d be naked and … well, you can use that towel if you like. I mean, it’s your bedroom, and if you want to be naked you can. I could watch—I mean, leave. If you want to be alone and naked, I could wait in the living room. Or go for a walk. Whatever you like.”

  He laughs, or at least I think he does, because he’s so wheezy he sounds like a cartoon character. “Taylor, stop talking.”

  “Sure.”

  “Give me my clothes.”

  I hand them over, and he goes back into the bathroom and shuts the door.

  Flopping down onto the bed, I put my head in my hands and sigh.

  My overwhelming attraction to him, even when he’s a virtual cornucopia of mucus-producing bacteria, is beyond appalling.

  The bathroom door opens, and he walks over to me, his hair much drier and his body less naked.

  I stand and touch his forehead. “You feel a bit cooler.”

  “Yeah? Good.”

  He stares at me for a second, and I’m reminded that if I want to stay away from him, he really shouldn’t be allowed to look at me like that.

  “Get into bed,” I say, my voice breathier than I intend.

  He frowns. “Taylor, I’m flattered, but I’m sick. Maybe later?”

  “You’re hilarious. But seriously, get under the covers. You’re shivering.”

  “That’s because it’s cold.”

  “It’s really not.”

  “Whatever.” He crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute. All that standing up in the shower kind of took it out of me.”

  “Of course it did. You’re an actor. You’re not used to working that hard.” He glares. “Aaaand that’s my cue to go get you food and drugs.”

  A little while later, I return with a tray laden with instant chicken soup, a glass of pineapple juice, the bottle of cough medicine, the antibiotics, and Tylenol.

  Holt is fast asleep.

  “Hey, wake up.”

  He groans and turns over.

  I put the tray down on his nightstand and gently shake his shoulder.

  “Come on, Holt. Your drug pusher has arrived. You have to wake up.”

  His head lolls to the side, but he doesn’t stir.

  “Oh, no,” I say in a breathy voice. “I spilled soup all over myself in the kitchen and had to remove my shirt and bra. I need you to cover my naked breasts with your giant hands.”

  He jolts awake and looks at my fully clothed form in confusion for a few seconds before flopping back onto the pillows and sighing.

  “That was mean and unnecessary. You don’t promise a dying man boobs and then renege.”

  “You’re not dying.”

  “If I was, could I see your boobs?”

  “No. That right is reserved for my boyfriend, and since that’s not you—”

  Shit, Cassie. Don’t blackmail him with your boobs. Low blow.

  “Sorry, that was …”

  “It’s fine,” he says before clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes. “You’re right.”

  He looks down at his hands, and I’m aware we need to talk about stuff, but now isn’t the time.

  “You need to sit up,” I say as I grab two Tylenol and the juice. “Take these. Then eat your soup.”

  He does as he’s told.

  Fifteen minutes later, he’s finished most of his soup, taken his antibiotics and cough medicine, and drunk all of his pineapple juice.

  I take the tray into the kitchen, and when I return, his eyelids are drooping.

  I pull the covers up to cover him. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Sloshy,” he says before yawning. “And kind of stoned. What the hell is in that cough medicine?”

  “Magical sleep voodoo.”

  “Oh. I thought it might have just been a sedative of some sort.”

  “Yeah. That, too.”

  “It’s strong.”

  “Good. You need sleep.”

  He yawns again and looks up at me, and it’s j
ust wrong how handsome he still is.

  Before I can leave, he grabs my hand with his too-warm fingers.

  “Stay,” he says as he brushes his thumb across the back of my hand.

  “You need to rest.”

  “I will. Just stay with me. Please.”

  In his current state, I know I can’t deny him anything. I remove my shoes and go around to the other side of the bed. He turns toward me as I climb on top of the covers.

  “After our fight on Wednesday,” he says, “the last place I thought you’d be this weekend was in my bed.”

  I nod. “I have to admit, when I’ve thought about finally seeing your bedroom, I imagined it would be under far more sexy and far less mucus-y conditions.”

  “What, my pleurisy cough and laryngitis aren’t turning you on? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

  Oh, Holt, if you only knew how much you still turn me on, you’d be embarrassed for me.

  He puts his arm under his head and looks up at me. “Is it wrong that seeing you in my bed makes me want to do things to you, even when I’m this sick?” His words are slurred, and I wonder if he’d have said such a thing without the drugs in his system.

  “Ethan, we agreed—”

  “No, we didn’t,” he says and touches my thigh. “You told me we had to stop touching each other if we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn’t agree to it. You walked off before I could tell you it was a fucking horrible idea.”

  “It wouldn’t change things if you had.”

  He looks down. “I know. I stood outside your apartment in the rain for nearly an hour, trying to figure out how fix it. When I realized I didn’t have the guts to knock on your door and tell you I was an idiot, I was so fucking angry with myself I came home and got drunk. Then I passed out on the couch, still soaking wet. Woke up in the middle of the night freezing my ass off.”

  “God, Ethan …”

  He runs his hand up to the waistband of my jeans and blinks long and slow before pushing a finger beneath the hem of my shirt.

  “Your skin is so soft,” he whispers as he splays his hand over my stomach. He moves his fingers up until he’s touching the underside of my bra. It makes me want to forget all about his germs and shove his hand either higher or lower.

  Instead, I take in a steadying breath and put my hand over his, stopping him.