Page 94 of Faking It
But you’re a guy, I want to say. Guys don’t do stuff like this.
“What about the events?” I ask, suddenly panicked.
“I had Zoey come up here and sit in here with you while you slept so I could do it, and then we postponed today until tomorrow so you could rest.”
“That must have cost you money to do. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Shush.” Another soft kiss to the top of my head. “We’ve been seeing so many people—shaking hands, hugging—going in and out of air conditioning from city to city. Getting sick was bound to happen to one of us. I’m just sorry that it was you.”
Tears fill my eyes and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m sick or because he’s being so nice, but I don’t have the effort to fight them and one slips down my cheek.
“Why are you crying?” he asks with a soft smile on his face and pulls me in against his bare chest as I try to reign in my sudden hurricane of emotion.
“You shouldn’t have stayed. You’re going to get sick,” I say against his chest.
“Whatever you have, I’ve already been good and well exposed to it.” The trail of his fingertip up and down my back. “Can I get you anything? I have some soup ready for you. Can make you a bath if you want. I even have some coloring books to color in.”
“Coloring books?” I chuckle and lean back so I can see. The nightstand he’s pointing to is covered in four or five coloring books and crayons.
He shrugs. “I promised the doctor I’d make you rest the full forty-eight so I was determined to keep you here and well . . . you can color in bed.”
There’s something about him saying that simple phrase without any sexual innuendo that catches my attention. And means the world to me.
“Bathroom,” I say after a minute of listening to his heartbeat beneath my ear.
“Let me—”
“I’ve got it,” I say, pushing him back as I take a minute to stand, steadying myself with my hand on the knob of the headboard. Then I walk to the open doorway where I find my toothbrush and the rest of my toiletries lined up on the counter and a fresh change of pajamas folded neatly beside them.
And this time when the tears come, I let them fall.
I take my time to shower and clean up, feeling marginally human when I open the door to find Zane sitting cross legged on the bed with a coloring book open, and coloring a page.
There’s something about seeing him—this powerful business man—reduced to gym pants and coloring a picture of Scooby Doo that melts my heart.
“Zane?”
“You feeling better?”
“Much. You had all my things brought up here.”
“It was the least I could do.”
I just stand in the doorway and stare, unable to move, unable to prevent my heart from tumbling out of my chest and onto the floor.
He glances up from his project and when he sees me standing there stills. “What is it?” he asks.
“I—I—” I’m falling for you, I want to say. It’s absolutely ridiculous in this short amount of time, but I think I’m in love with you. But instead I tell him, “—I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of me.”
Chicken.
“What did you think I was going to do? Leave you up here to fend for yourself?”
God, that smile gets me every single time.
“No but . . . I know you’re crazy busy with work and this—”
“What do you mean by this? Compassion? Domesticity? Playing nurse to you?”
