Now it’s Thursday, the night before all of us are driving up to Orlando to spend the weekend at Universal Studios, since that’s what Josie asked to do for her birthday this year. She’s already in bed, and I keep telling myself that I’m only tired and just need a little sleep. After I finish packing, of course, which I haven’t even started yet.
The problem is I know the aches and chills and the tenderness in my throat are all the telltale signs of strep. I’m prone to strep at least once a year, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t always pick the worst times to show up and ruin everything.
So I go to bed earlier than usual, telling myself that extra sleep is what my body needs, only to wake up the next morning with a full-blown fever and my throat feeling as if I had swallowed a glass full to the brim of razor blades.
“Mom, are you awake yet?” Josie asks as she raps on my bedroom door. “Don’t we have to meet at Uncle Alex and Aunt Julia’s house in an hour?”
I can barely lift my head off the pillow long enough to tell her to open the door. “Wait, don’t come too close, I’m sick as a dog.”
“Oh no! Mom, you can’t be sick this weekend! It’s my birthday and we’ve been planning this forever.”
The disappointment on her face is clear as day, and I don’t blame her. We’ve been planning this mini vacation for a few months, and if I were her, I’d be panicking too.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
She crosses the threshold into my room and touches my forehead. “Mom, you’re burning up.”
“I know I am. I think I have strep throat.”
“Again?”
“Yes,” I say dryly. “Again, unfortunately.”
I look at Josie, who is concerned for my health, yes, but also concerned that she’s going to be sitting at home all weekend with a sick mother to look after. So I decide to make an executive decision. “Sweetie, can you hand me my phone from the nightstand, please?”
Dejectedly, Josie reaches over and grabs my cell phone, then hands it to me. I get my mother on the phone.
“Oh dear, Vanessa, you sound awful,” she says within a second of me saying hello. “You’re not planning on still going, are you?”
“No, I’m not going to be able to go,” I say and glance at Josie, who’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “That’s why I’m calling you. Can you swing by here on your way to Alex’s house and pick up Josie? She’s already packed and ready to go.”
Josie screeches so loudly that whatever my mom says next is lost on me. “Mom, sorry, can you say that again?”
“Are you sure you want to stay home by yourself?” my mom asks. “I’ll be worried about you, sweetheart.”
“I’m sure, and I’ll be fine, Mom,” I say to her.
She sighs loudly on the phone. “Okay then, your father and I will be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Can you let Alex and Julia know? I’m too tired to talk for too much longer.”
“Of course I will,” she says. “Now you go and get some rest. And make sure to eat some warm broth with toast and drink some apple juice and lots of water. And see if you can get your doctor to call in a prescription for you directly to the pharmacy.”
“I will. Thanks, Mom.”
I toss the phone onto my comforter and settle back in my bed. The chills pick back up then, and my teeth start rattling. Josie notices as she’s still celebrating in silence on the side of my bed.
“Do you need anything before I go?”
I rattle off a list of things, which she brings to my bedroom before I hear the honk of my parents’ car outside. She kisses my cheek and says a heartfelt, “Thank you, love you, and get better soon,” before running out of there faster than I’ve ever seen her. I have to laugh and shake my head, because at least she thought to say anything before bolting. Before I forget, I call my doctor’s office, which is by now so used to me having strep that they do in fact call in the script for me at the local pharmacy. But I fall asleep, or pass out is more like it, for the next few hours and never pick it up.
The next day, I still feel like a Mack truck hit me at full speed. But I have to gather enough strength to at least make it to the pharmacy and pick up my meds. If not, I’ll definitely be looking at having strep much longer than usual. Because with the antibiotics, the worst part of it is gone within a day, two days tops.
I pull myself together in the form of ratty sweatpants, a busted-up old concert T-shirt, and flip-flops, and tie my hair up in a messy bun before heading out, not even bothering to look at myself in the mirror, because really, who cares?
After I park my car in the mini strip mall parking lot where my pharmacy is located, I take a while to gather up the energy to open my car door. So I rest my head on the steering wheel for a moment. A light tapping on my driver’s side window scares the living daylights out of me, and I turn to find Cameron standing outside.
Of course he would be here today of all days, when I look like this and feel like crap. And with all the drama surrounding me as of late, I haven’t had a moment’s peace to stop and think about him . . . us . . . whatever this is exactly.
I give a small wave before snatching up my purse and opening the door, the whole time thinking to myself that this is it. Now that he’ll get a good look at what I look like, he’ll go running for the hills and to the arms of that woman who’s trying to bribe him with sweets and cleavage . . . or at least that’s how Maria has put it.
“How are you?” he asks, shoving his hands in his cargo shorts. His black T-shirt, which fits him perfectly and makes it more than obvious to me that he’s in shape, says in simple white block letters, “Gravity gets me down.” He’s also wearing the eyeglasses that he had on the first day I met him at the school. God, he has no idea how cute he is.
I clear my throat and sound like a frog up and died in my mouth when I answer him. “I’m doing okay.”
“Oh no, you’re sick. What are you doing out? You should be in bed getting plenty of rest.”
“Well, I would be doing that,” I manage to choke out, “but my whole family is away for the weekend for Josie’s birthday, so I’m on my own until tomorrow afternoon. So that’s why I look like a mess and why I’m here,” I say and point to the pharmacy. “I’m picking up my meds.”
Cameron smiles but doesn’t say a word.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask finally.
“Because it seems like you need some help today.”
“Not really,” I say. “I live about three blocks away, so I’ll be home sooner than later and back in my pajamas.”
“Vanessa, I cannot in good conscience allow you to be alone in this condition.”
“Cameron, I—”
“I will not take no for an answer,” he says with an authoritative voice. He crosses his arms on his chest after pushing his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “We’re going to go inside, get your meds and any other supplies we’ll need. And if you want me to run anywhere else, we’ll make a list, and I’ll pick up everything while you get back to resting and feeling better.”
I try to protest, but he reaches out and grabs my hand and pulls me inside the pharmacy. He’s so incredibly sweet to be doing all of this for me, yet I can’t help but wonder if he’s absolutely nuts. I mean, who goes around volunteering to babysit someone they barely know when they are sick, on a Saturday, no less? Nobody, that’s who. Then again, I don’t really know many people, and the people I really do know are all away. So, why not let him take care of me? If anything, it will keep me from having to do a thing, which is really what I want to be doing.
In short order, Cameron picks up my medicine along with a couple of Twix bars that he says are a necessity, cherry flavored throat lozenges, Vick’s VapoRub, and last but not least, Tylenol.
“Okay,” he says and ushers me outside to the parking lot. “I think we’ve got everything we need here.”
In a whirlwind, I’m back in my car and he’s following me home. And somehow, I’m totally
fine with this. Because when I get home, he parks his car, follows me in, makes quick work of giving me my meds, and then commands me to change into my pajamas again and get back in bed and go to sleep.
And I do go back to bed. But the idea of Cameron hanging around in my house while I’m in my bedroom starts to eat away at me. Enough so that I know it will be impossible to fall back to sleep.
I tiptoe down the stairs and spot him on the couch in my living room, trying to figure out the remote control situation for the television.
“It’s the other remote,” I say to him and drag myself the rest of the way until I plop myself down on the other end of the couch. Pointing at the remote control that’s still on the coffee table, I add, “That’s the one that controls everything. The remote you’re holding is old and doesn’t work. I should just get rid of it, but I can’t seem to part ways with it.”
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed,” he says and grabs the other remote.
“I tried. Didn’t take. So here I am. Entertain me.”
“Entertain you?” he asks with a grin. “Hmm, did you have anything in mind?”
“You can go on to my Netflix account and maybe we can pick a TV show neither of us has watched before and marathon it. You game?”
“You’re on.”
Cameron and I eventually settle on Mad Men, me because I think Jon Hamm is supersexy, and him, well, I think he’s just agreeing to watch it because I want to watch it. He presses Play on season one, episode one, and then immediately pauses the show.
“Are we quitting already?” I ask.
He laughs and stands up from the couch, reaching behind him to pull the blanket I have draped on the back of it. Then he comes to where I’m sitting in a ball and covers me with it, taking great care to tuck it in underneath my feet and pull it right up to under my chin. The whole time, his eyes are soft and his forehead is crinkled in concentration, while moving with much thought and careful consideration.
Before he goes back to his side of the couch, I say, “I think I’m good, thank you, Cameron.”
He nods and goes to sit down, then presses Play and we start our little marathon . . .
I only stay awake long enough to watch the very first scene, and then I’m out like a light.
A soft nudge on my shoulder wakes me from a deep sleep. When I come to, I see that it’s nighttime and the television is off, and Cameron is crouched on the floor beside me.
“Hey there,” he says quietly. “How are you feeling?”
I rub my eyes and cough a little to clear my throat. “I still have the chills and I still sound like garbage.”
I do, my throat is killing me, and I feel as if I could go right back to sleep for the next twelve hours.
“Is the show over? Did he jump off the building for real?” I ask him.
Cameron smiles and rubs his mouth to stifle his laugh. “No, and no. I kind of dozed off there toward the last episode I was watching.”
“What time is it anyway?”
“It’s around ten o’clock. I didn’t want to wake you up to see if you were hungry, but since it’s getting so late, I thought I’d at least let you know that I was gonna head out.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, and then kind of start dozing again.
“Vanessa?”
“Just give me a minute, I’ll be right there and . . .” I say, trying my best to stay awake. But this sickness is kicking my ass and winning.
The next few moments are kind of a blur and kind of an out-of-body experience, because I’m not absolutely sure, but it feels as if I’m being carried up the stairs by Cameron; either that or I somehow picked up the superpower of flying when I got this case of strep throat. Even stranger is when I’m placed in my bed, then reach out to grab a fistful of Cameron’s T-shirt and pull him down into my bed with me. More odd still is when I snuggle into his arms and sniff all the sunshine goodness that is his signature scent while burrowing into his warmth.
During the course of my broken sleep, I’m slightly aware that I’m sharing my bed with a man for the first time in many, many years. I’m cognizant of the fact that it’s Cameron, which brings a smile to my face even as I’m semi-restless. And that he’s holding me so close to him, like a prized treasure, and running his fingers through my hair with tenderness while my fever breaks and the dreams finally come.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There is an erection pressed against me.
I never dreamed that this is where strep throat would lead, but there you have it.
I’m lying on my side, facing the bright sun streaming through the windows since I never closed the blinds yesterday, relishing the beauty of a gorgeous Miami Sunday morning, when I feel it for the first time behind me.
Cameron is spooning me. He has his chest and arms like a safety net around me, and it feels like a perfect bubble of comfort, from which I don’t really want to move. I can sense his even breathing and a light, adorable snore that alerts me that he’s sleeping soundly. But other . . . parts of him are awake.
What is the protocol here, exactly? Do I nudge him and tell him to remove it from knocking on the back door? Or do I pretend that I can’t feel it and just wait for him to wake up on his own? Wait, that won’t work, since he’ll get out of my bed with a full-blown tent in his shorts, and that might be even more awkward. The last thing I want to do is call attention to it, even though it’s doing a perfectly capable job of that all on its own.
I start to yawn, causing my rib cage to expand where Cameron’s one arm is draped over me. This slight movement is enough to get him stirring, and I’m hoping he’ll roll over so I can get up and out of the room and he won’t be embarrassed by what’s happening. Instead of rolling over, he settles in closer behind me. Then his left hand slides up the side of my body slowly until he’s cupping my breast.
Okay, this is the exact opposite of what I was hoping to accomplish, and I’m frozen as still as a statue, not sure of what do next. I’m not a virgin and do not pretend to be holier-than-thou when it comes to sex, but I am in no way prepared yet to do anything with him like this.
However, my body starts to betray me when he begins to massage my breast, slowly and methodically. It’s as if my mind has been hijacked by some sexual deviant, because good Lord, does that feel good. Especially when his thumb and forefinger zero in on my nipple, and he rubs it between his fingers before going right back to massaging it in his strong hand. Then it’s a back and forth of massaging and tugging for a good minute.
I don’t want him to stop even though I know that we should. So, thinking that he’s asleep and doing a sleepwalk sex thing, I rest my head on the pillow more comfortably and close my eyes to revel in this for just a moment longer . . . and maybe even a little past that for good measure.
But then, to both my utter shock and delight, Cameron starts to press light kisses on my neck. His lips inch up slowly as he moves behind me, letting me know that he’s completely awake and completely aware of what is going on between us.
My brain switches off entirely and lets him take command of my body. I mean, a few precious minutes won’t kill me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself when rational thought tries to infiltrate me again as my breath hitches and starts to sound more like I’m losing control of the situation.
The day old stubble on his chin rasps against my neck while Cameron continues to press kisses behind my ear in the most exquisite way, and it only adds to the sensation running through me. I grip the comforter in my hand to anchor me to this moment, to this bed, and to him a little while more. But then his hand that had been massaging my breast reaches out to capture mine. He picks it up and smoothly snakes it behind his neck, then runs his fingers down, featherlight, from wrist to shoulder, until they reach my breast again, where he picks up right where he had left off.
I’m lost in the feeling of his lips, his hands, and his body playing mine like a fine instrument. But when his hand leaves my chest and runs the length of my torso down,
just past my navel and right above my pajama bottom, I begin to get slightly panicked.
My body, which had been relaxed, tightens and Cameron notices, so he stops all his movements. We stay frozen like that for a couple of seconds until he breaks the silence.
With his mouth by my ear and in a low voice, he says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away like that and scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod, and as my breathing returns to normal, he carefully removes my hand from behind his neck and presses a kiss to the back of it. He brings my hand down to rest on the comforter once again, but keeps his body right up against my backside.
“Okay,” he says softly. He props himself up on his elbow to look down at me. “Do we want to talk about what just happened?”
Shaking my head, my cheeks turning a shade of crimson, I say, “No, I’m good, thanks. But can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“How did we end up in my bed?”
Cameron’s face beams with a full smile and his dark eyes lighten at my question. “You don’t remember me trying to leave and you pulling me into your bed with you?”
When I close my eyes, all the medicine and fever-fueled haze from the previous night comes back in a flash of moving pictures in my head. “Kind of,” I say and look into his eyes. “I’m so sorry about that. You should have just left me on the couch.”
“Vanessa, I—”
My cell phone buzzes from somewhere in my bedroom, interrupting him. And then I remember Josie and my entire family are due back today. My upper body jackknifes from the bed, my head darting around while I look for the phone. I find it on my dresser on the other side of the room. Leaving Cameron in the bed, I literally jump out of it and grab the phone to just miss Josie’s phone call.
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