Show Me Something (Something Series Book 5)

by Aubrey Bondurant

  I shook my head, feeling a tear run down my stupid face despite my best effort against it. His kindheartedness was completely undoing my defenses. “I don’t have anything unless I want to start chugging the toddler version.”

  He cracked a smile, pulling his hand back. “Let me run across the hall. I think I have some.”

  He returned within minutes with two Costco-sized bottles of pills in hand. “I have Tylenol and Motrin. Not sure which is better.”

  “I can piggyback them like I did with Tristan. Take Tylenol now, then Motrin the next time.”

  “Good. Take some. What do you have to drink?” He crossed to my kitchen and pulled open the fridge door to survey the gallon of milk and diet Coke. I didn’t have anything else.

  “Diet Coke is fine.”

  He handed me one. “What about your stomach? When is the last time you’ve eaten?”

  “Last night, but I don’t think I can do it. Tristan barely could, either. Um, he has cut up fruit in the fridge along with yogurt and noodles if he gets hungry for dinner. Cheerios in the cabinet. But please don’t give him any of the sugar.”

  He opened the cabinet and raised a brow at my stash of Frosted Flakes, Pop-Tarts, and gummy candy. “I take it he doesn’t share in your, uh—”

  “Sugar addiction. No. And you can pretend you didn’t see my dirty little secret.”

  There he went turning red again. “Lips are sealed. Now then, let’s get you into bed.”

  I quirked a brow watching him roll his eyes despite blushing at the way that had sounded.

  “I seem to put my foot in my mouth a lot around you.”

  Smiling, I assured him. “With me looking this way, I’d have to question your sanity not to mention your timing. And I put my foot in my mouth all the time.”

  “It’s kind of cute when you do.”

  Yeah. Cute. Like a puppy. Terrific. “I feel guilty asking you to babysit, especially because you’ll be exposed to whatever this crud is.”

  His handsome face got stern. “Let’s make something clear. You’re not asking. I’m offering. You’re an amazing mom, but you need to take care of yourself, too.”

  Oh, cluck. My lower lip wobbled, and tears clogged my vision. “Thank you.” It barely came out as a whisper.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I turned and made my way into the bathroom, letting the tears finally hit me. What was it about being sick and turning into an emotional mess that went hand in hand? It was as though all the balls I’d been juggling had completely crashed down around me. Then Mark, probably the nicest guy I’d ever met, drops in and is not only terrific with my son, but also offers to let me take a nap. I’m not sure what I did to deserve his compassion or that of any of my other friends over the last few weeks. I did appreciate it, though, and considered myself one lucky girl.

  The shower made me feel semi-human, and the Tylenol helped with the aches and pains. When I then puttered out into the living room, I had to smile at the scene of Tristan in Mark’s lap on the couch with a sippy cup in hand. They were watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

  Mark caught my eye and grinned. “We’re bonding over our mutual love of Pluto. Although if he asks, I don’t know if I can explain why Goofy is a dog who can talk while Pluto cannot.”

  I smiled at the way his mind worked. I hadn’t ever considered this Disney dog conundrum. “I think you may be safe from that question today.”

  “You need to go lie down. Don’t worry about us boys. If anything comes up I can’t handle, I’ll come get you.”

  “Okay. Wake me in a couple of hours, and I’ll put Tristan to bed.”

  “Will do.”

  ***

  Shivering, I opened my eyes to a darkened room. I was completely soaked through my T-shirt and sheets. Glancing towards my bedroom window, I realized it was pitch black outside, too. Frantically, I looked towards the clock. Holy crap. It was after eight o’clock. I’d been out for four hours.

  When I stood up too quickly, I had to fight nausea from the movement. I managed to fumble with the light and walk out my door down the hall.

  Mark was in my kitchen, wiping down the counter.

  “Why did you let me sleep?”

  He glanced over, his brow furrowed with concern. “Because you needed it. I put Tristan to bed about twenty minutes ago.”

  “But you didn’t have to.” I was getting emotional over nothing, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I know I didn’t. Here’s the monitor. He’s curled up with his stuffed doggie.”

  I swallowed hard as I studied the monitor screen. I’d always been the one to put Tristan to bed. Oh, my mom had done so, too, but only a handful of times. “How was he feeling?”

  “Great. He ate some Cheerios, and yogurt, and we played Legos and then trains. He broke the red one, though. I’m hoping I can superglue it back together.” He came around the counter and put his hand on my forehead. “You need some more meds and to get back in bed. Christ. You’re soaked with sweat. Do you have a thermometer?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. One of the ear ones in the bathroom cabinet.”

  He was gone and back in a flash and then wasted no time in punching the button on the electronic thermometer and holding it out for me.

  After a few seconds, I pulled it out of my ear and blinked at the number. One hundred three degrees.

  He took it without asking and frowned at the display. “Maybe I should take you to the emergency room.”

  I shook my head. “It’s only spiked up. I’ll take Motrin and be better.” Although my uncontrollable shivering wasn’t exactly convincing either of us.

  “Why don’t you go take a shower? I’m going to strip your bed and get some fresh sheets.”

  Although I hated the thought of him doing this task for me, I couldn’t fathom coming up with the energy to do it myself. “Okay. Did Tristan go right to sleep for you?”

  “Yep. I changed his diaper, put him in his PJs, and found a new toothbrush for him in the drawer. I figured the old one might be the one he used while sick. Read him a story—actually two because I’m a sucker. Then he rolled over, like ‘peace out, dude. Time for sleep.’”

  I had to be delusional to get completely turned on by the way Mark had been so capable. Yes, indeedy, capable was the new HOT, especially when you were used to doing everything on your own. “Thank you.”

  He uncapped the Tylenol bottle, handed me two pills, and then poured me a glass of water. “I want you to drink the full thing. You’re probably dehydrated. In fact, when you’re done with your shower, I’ll run out and get some Gatorade and chicken broth. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Thanks again.” What else could I say?

  He came around the counter and tipped my chin up with his finger, surprising me with such a familiar gesture. “Stop thanking me. It’s what friends do.”

  Right. But I bet friends wouldn’t have the same thoughts running through their heads that I was in this moment with him so close. Deep breath and focus back on reality. “Yes, well, my friends have had to do a lot for me lately. Although I’m eternally grateful, it sucks always being on the receiving end.”

  He smirked and dropped his hand. “Just remember that when you’re fixing me chicken soup in a few days, and we’ll be fine.”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  Another shower felt heavenly, but it also made me lightheaded. The last thing I needed was to pass out naked and have Mark find me that way. After slipping on fresh pajamas, I frowned at my reflection. Holy nightmare. I looked like death puked up, well, death. Good thing Mark and I were only friends. And I didn’t care what my friend thought of my appearance. Yeah, right.

  Staring in the mirror was doing nothing for my self-confidence as I tried to look at myself through his eyes. Then I thought, nope. Not going there.

  I pulled out the blow-dryer, intent on getting some of the dampness out of my hair. But within minutes my nausea came back full force, together with a heat rush right to m
y head. I turned the dryer off and splashed cold water on my face. Feeling like I might be sick, I opened the cabinet door below the sink in search of some Pepto. I’d thought I had some in here somewhere in a travel bag. When I unzipped the pouch of the bag, however, it was full of tampons. Desperate for something to help quell my stomach, I dumped the entire contents of the bag and finally found the small bottle of stomach-relief pills in the bottom. After shaking a few out, I swallowed them with a bit of water and then sat at the base of the toilet with my cheek on the cool porcelain of the tub. I sure was thankful I’d earlier scrubbed this bathroom top to bottom.

  Please don’t get sick. Please don’t get sick.

  My watering mouth wasn’t exactly an encouraging sign, but it didn’t stop my half prayer, half mantra. As if I could give my stomach the pep talk necessary to stay put. Upon hearing a soft knock, I glanced up to see Mark’s face pop in.

  “Jules, you all right?”

  I nodded, unable to verbalize a response.

  He didn’t hesitate to take action, grabbing a wash cloth, wetting it with cool water, and then placing it on my forehead. His gaze next hit the floor.

  My glance tracked his, and I realized what he’d found. The twenty-plus tampons strewn about as if the box had exploded.

  I glanced up at the ceiling, asking the universe why me?

  “Um, do you want me to give you privacy?”

  Great. Now he was probably thinking that, on top of being sick, I needed an entire box of tampons to stop my monthly flow. “No. I was searching for Pepto. The feminine hygiene products are only to push my humiliation to the brink of ridiculous whenever I’m around you.”

  “You’re humiliated around me?” He frowned at my admission.

  “Repeatedly, but not by anything that’s your fault. If anything, I’m shocked you haven’t permanently hid from me.”

  That pulled a smile from him. “Now where would be the fun in that? You feeling better? Want to try getting into bed?”

  “I think so.” I let him help me up and didn’t complain when he wrapped an arm around me for support during the few feet into my bedroom. There I found he’d already stripped the sheets and had another glass of water on the nightstand.

  He lifted up the comforter and sheet, and I slid in, barely able to keep my eyes open. Virus plus hot shower, blow dry, and tampon explosion equaled complete exhaustion.

  “Let me go to the store. When I get back, I’ll sleep on the couch. If Tristan gets up, don’t worry.”

  His hand rubbed my back, causing me to sigh with bliss. “Why are you doing this for me?”

  “I like you.”

  I opened my eyes and saw him quickly amend his words.

  “Like a friend. I meant I like you as a friend.”

  I couldn’t keep myself from teasing him. “Oh, good. I was worried you might like, like me.”

  His lips twitched. “Don’t worry. Only one like.”

  My body relaxed, enjoying the fact that he hadn’t stopped his massage, moving it up to my shoulders. Maybe I could blame my sickness later, but all of a sudden it didn’t feel like a single-like situation. “So maybe we can be good friends, then.”

  His voice sounded decidedly sexy. “I’d like that.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  The massage paused but then resumed as he expelled a breath. “Depends.”

  “Earlier, you said I was a good mom. How do you know?” It was probably the most vulnerable question I’d ever posed.

  He rearranged the pillows, allowing for me to get more comfortable. Then he pulled the blankets over my body before meeting my gaze. “Because only a good mother would ever worry about being a bad one. Tristan is a lucky little boy to have someone love him as much as you do.”

  Damn. The man was making it impossible not to adore him on every level. “Thank you.”

  He kissed my forehead. “’Night, Jules. Get some sleep.”

  ***

  By the time I woke the next morning, I was feeling remarkably better. Not big-egg-breakfast-with-pancakes-and-syrup better, but at least I wasn’t as feverish or nauseous. After ensuring I threw on some sweats, I brushed my teeth and walked out into the kitchen.

  Mark was feeding Tristan in his high chair.

  “Hi, Mama.” Tristan smiled and showed me his spoonful of yogurt.

  “Hi, baby, how are you feeling.”

  “Great.” It was his favorite response and made me grin.

  “The real question is how are you?” Mark asked, studying my face. Before I knew it, he’d put a hand to my forehead.

  “Much better. And I really can’t thank you enough.”

  He shook his head. “We’ve been through this. I was happy to do it.” Removing his hand from my forehead, he seemed satisfied that my temperature was back to normal.

  I smirked. “You say that now, but something tells me that come tonight you might be regretting your decision. And I do want to make it up to you.”

  He flashed me a stern expression before relenting. “Fine. I love homemade pasta. Especially ravioli or tortellini. Is that something you make?”

  Nope. Never had attempted it, but I’d certainly learn now. “Yep, definitely.”

  “Good, then that’s how you can make it up to me. But, uh, maybe wait a couple of days.”

  “You’re starting to feel sick already, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “I’m not telling. By the way, I stocked your fridge with Gatorade and got some bagels. And don’t you dare say thank you again.”

  Smiling, I made a motion of zipping my lips.

  With humor reflected in his eyes, he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture seemed to surprise him so much so that immediately, he dropped his hand. “See you later, Jules.”

  I was digging the nickname he’d given me way too much. “Sure. Later.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I was going to conquer these stupid high heels if it killed me. Judging by the way I was bobbling across my living room floor, this might be a real possibility. How did any woman function in shoes over three inches? And yet I’d seen Haylee wear them and manage to carry a baby on her hip at the same time. Sasha wore designer stilettos on a daily basis and even traveled in them. Maybe my feet were deformed because surely it shouldn’t hurt this much. Right?

  “Fuck. I mean cluck, cluck,” I muttered, trying not to tip over. Nothing said sexy like cursing with every painful step. Maybe we’d be going to Disney World next summer given the rate of my swearing. Glancing towards Tristan, I saw he was playing with his stuffed animals. Thank goodness he hadn’t been paying attention.

  “Uh, knock knock. Your door was open.” Mark’s voice coming from the doorway took me off guard.

  It was Monday night, and I’d wondered when I’d see him next.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Funnily enough, instead of feeling embarrassed about being caught looking silly wearing sweatpants with high heels, I merely shrugged. “Practicing.” I’d already experienced far more awkward situations with the man. “And the door is open because Haylee is coming down any minute for dinner.”

  “Practicing for what, exactly?”

  “For a party tomorrow night. Haylee had these beautiful shoes which are too small for her. Unfortunately, they’re about three inches too high for me. But you know, the shoes make the outfit and all.”

  He seemed to contemplate my sweatpants and hoodie, with a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Obviously not this outfit, but a dress. Anyhow, never mind. I think I’ve had enough torture for the evening.” I slipped off the first shoe and let out a moan of relief.

  But after both shoes were off, making me my normal height, I had to swallow hard. Mark appeared so much bigger than me. There was something about a tall man with broad shoulders which had me envisioning this one carrying me caveman style into a bedroom. Forcing myself to snap out of my little fantasy, I walked to the kitchen and picked up my beer. “Do you wan
t one? I also made fajitas, if you’re interested.”

  My diet was going about as well as my math class at this point.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. Nothing for me. I only was concerned because I saw your front door open.”

  I noticed then the Gatorade bottle in his hands and his tired eyes. “How are you feeling, by the way?” I flashed him a knowing smile. He’d no doubt caught what Tristan and I had battled.

  He didn’t bother to deny he’d been sick. “Better. And don’t you dare start in with how sorry you are.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t. In fact, I warned you several times. But here, I made this for you just in case.” I pulled the bowl out of the refrigerator. It was homemade chicken noodle soup.

  He grinned, accepting the container along with a sleeve of crackers I put on top. “You didn’t have to make me soup.”

  “I know. Just like you didn’t have to take care of Tristan while I was sick. Besides, this is merely the leftovers from the big batch I made for myself. It took a couple days for me to get back to normal food.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. So, uh, what type of party is it?”

  “A mixer for Haylee’s law school.”

  “Josh will be happy to know she’s not going alone.”

  “She said much the same. But I’m free Wednesday night. Do you think your stomach will be up for cashing in your pasta dinner chip by then?” I’d looked at recipes and felt confident I could manage homemade ravioli.

  He arched a brow. “I get the pasta dinner and also chicken noodle soup?”

  I smiled. “The soup isn’t much, so definitely.”

  “Wednesday is good for dinner. Who’s this mixer for? Is it all law students or does it include friends of hers?”

  I shrugged, finding it curious he was this interested. “I don’t really know. I’m assuming it’s her classmates, but I think it’s Haylee’s attempt to get me out and dressed up.”

  “So why go?”

  “I guess because it’s good to break out of my comfort zone. Plus, I can’t be a hermit the rest of my life.”

  “No. But if you won’t enjoy meeting new people, I don’t see the point.”