Conspiring (8 page)

I nod my head. “Do you need a shower?”

“Um, no. I don’t need one. Do you need help?” He stares down at the floor.
Well this isn’t awkward at all, Veronica
. He glances at me from under his long lashes. I can’t believe, given how sick I am, that he can look at me like that and still have such an effect on me. He quietly rambles, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to shower with you.” He smiles as he continues, “And enjoy that body of yours all morning. I just think I need to hurry up, and get you to a doctor.”

“Right. I think I’ll be okay. You know? No need for help.” I point to the shower and take a step back. “Probably best if you don’t join me. I’ll only be a few minutes. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks. Holler if you need me,” he says as he turns to walk back into my bedroom.

He’s right. The steam seems to be helping my cough. I’m still so nauseated. I’m not sure if it’s from my drinking last night or the coughing. I guess I really have been coming down with something.

The warm water feels good on my sticky body. Between the club, hot sex all night, and my being sick, I feel disgusting. It doesn’t take me long in the shower. I quickly wash my hair and my body, despite the fact that I’d prefer to just sit in the floor, and go back to sleep.

Climbing out and grabbing the towel, I get a whiff of freshly brewed coffee. The aroma fills my nostrils as I inhale. There is a tickle in the back of my throat. That heaviness in my chest is becoming familiar. It’s about to start again. I wrap the towel around my wet body while rushing back to the toilet, hoping to beat the vomiting.

I am so weak I can barely move. Every time I try to lift my hand it shakes. Tears start to trickle down my face. I am too tired to move. I put my arm over the seat and lay my head down on it waiting for the nausea to subside.

“Hey. You okay?”

I don’t know how long I’ve been resting my eyes. I didn’t even realize he had come back in the room. I peek up to him.
Why is he being so nice and understanding to me
? I muster up enough energy to shake my head, “No. I’m not.”

“Well, I’m not sure if you remember or not, but we took a cab here to your place –”

“I remember,” I snap back. I had a lot to drink, but I’ve never actually been drunk enough to not remember who I was with or what I had been doing. Disoriented, yes, but I’m very well aware of everything that took place last night. The mere thought sends a ping through my entire body, despite how horrible I feel.

Ian is staring at me amused, as if he’s entertaining me by listening to me. I remember him being surprising last night. I recall how different I thought he was from Bradley. Right now he is really reminding me of him. I frown as I feel a little regret.

“You wanna say anything else?” He smirks. “You look deep in thought. But then again, your cheeks just got a little color to where you don’t look like a ghost. So I’m guessing you were just recalling our night.”

I huff, “Yes, about last night.” I roll my eyes. It’s not often I have nothing to say, but he’s been making word retrieval difficult since I laid eyes on him. “No, about having anything else to say.”

“Good. My point about the cab was that we don’t have a vehicle here to get you to the doctor.”

I hold my breath for a moment, which causes me to start coughing again. “Oh,” I sigh.
Taking a cab was a brilliant move.

He continues, “So I called my roommates while you were in the shower. They’re bringing my car. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Um...” I am not sure how to ask if that means he’s leaving me to be sick on my own, or that he’s going to provide transportation to the doctor for me. “Well, thank you for everything.”

He looks puzzled. “No problem.”

This isn’t awkward much
. “If you’ll just lock the front door when you leave.”

The thought of giving him my number crosses my mind. I wouldn’t blame him for never wanting to see me again. I have probably earned the top spot on his worst idea ever list. I don’t think I can take rejection at the moment. I turn my head so I’m no longer looking at him. To think I actually felt like a whore before I met him because of Bradley makes me sarcastically laugh to myself. I certainly feel like one now.

“I’ll be happy to lock up on our way to take you to the doctor. Where do you keep your panties and that bra you
weren’t
wearing last night?”

I snap my head back to see him.
Not smart, Veronica
. I feel like I’ve just been hit over the head with a bat. I clamp my eyes closed, trying to let the feeling of my brain bouncing in my head settle. He’s not just hot, sexy, and great in bed. He’s actually caring. He’s offering to take care of me.
Now there’s a novel concept
.

“I mean you’re in no condition to care for yourself right now. There’s no way I’m going to just leave you like this. You’re clearly very sick.”

That statement brings me back to earth.
Of course
. Leaving me in this condition would make him a total douche, so he’s only doing this to make himself feel better. “I appreciate it. I can call Val, though.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head clearly exasperated with me. “Don’t be silly. They are almost here.” He walks into my closet and yells, “Where do you keep your sexy underwear in this massive closet?”

“I’ll get them. Just help me up, please.”

“No, you rest. Just tell me where they are.”

Grr
. Showing him my underwear drawer shouldn’t make me modest after everything we shared last night, but it does. I put my hands on either side of the seat, trying to push myself up, but I just fall back down.
Ugh
.

I cross my arms over the toilet seat and rest my head on my arms. “See those drawers that face my bedroom on the island?”

“Yep,” he calls back.

“Panties are in the top drawer…” Talking is making me out of breath. I’m barely able to finish my sentence before the coughing gets out of control again. “And bras are in the second.”

I have nothing left to vomit, so I’m dry heaving into the bowl, which has me in tears. There is nothing I hate more than vomiting. I seriously think it’s like hell on earth. Want to torture me? Want to make me pay for every single bad thing I’ve ever done? Just induce vomiting.

When I’m done, his hand is beside me. He’s holding a cool washcloth out to me. My surroundings seem to be a blur to me today. I don’t remember hearing him turn the water on to wet it. I don’t get why he’s being so good to me, but I’m appreciative. Being sick is the one time I really hate that I’m single. The only thing that makes vomiting worse is having no one to help take care of you.

I reach over shakily taking the cloth. “Thanks,” is all I can manage.

“Mhmm. I know you’re really weak. Let me help you up.”

He reaches from behind me and puts his arms under my shoulders, lifting me like it’s nothing. The movement causes my towel to fall to the floor. I’m even more wobbly on my feet than I had been before my shower. He quickly turns me around as I fall into him. The chemistry is still nearly palpable. I swear it seems to be getting stronger, which I didn’t think was possible last night. It surprises me as sick as I am. Maybe it’s just because he’s being so sweet to me. I look to him warily. I have no idea how I’m going to even get out of my bathroom, let alone to my bedroom, and then to the driveway when the time comes.

“Just take enough steps to get out of this little room. I gotcha,” he assures me.
Add mind reader to the list of sexy attributes he possesses
.

He backs up, and my feet drag a few steps before we stop. Now out of the little room inside of my bathroom that houses only my toilet, he swoops and picks me up, cradling me into his bulging arms. I rest my head on his chest. My arms, too weak to lift, dangle down my side.

He gently places me down on the bed.
My how things can change so quickly
. Just a few hours I was in this exact same position but for other activities.
Far more fun activities
.

Ian is towering over me, just standing there surveying me. Probably because I’m so sick and vulnerable, it makes me uncomfortable. I shrug my shoulders. “What?” I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

He shakes his head from side-to-side with his eyes closed. “Nothing.” He picks the underwear up that he had gotten out of my closet earlier, and holds them in front of me. “These okay?”

“Yes.”

He nods his head. Methodically, he slides them over my legs. When he reaches my hips, I tilt my pelvis so he can push them the rest of the way.

He’s very serious. I have no idea what he’s thinking. He mumbles, “Any other circumstance and I’d rather be taking those off you rather than putting them on.”

I smile the biggest smile I can manage, which isn’t much. It’s nice to hear he still has desire for me, that he still finds me attractive after all the puking. He picks the bra up next. “This one good?”

I nod my head.

He points and motions. “You’re gonna have to sit up for me to put this on you. Do you think you can do that? I mean I’ll help you.”

“Uh huh.”

His entire body is over mine, our chests touching. He threads his arms under my armpits, and his hands brace my shoulders. I can feel my pulse accelerating. Tears fill my eyes as I realize that no man has ever taken such good care of me before. I don’t think I realize how much I had yearned for this.

“You okay?” he whispers into my ear. I hear the huskiness in his voice. It’s familiar. I heard that last night.

“Yes. You?”

“Yep. I’m good.”
It’s gone
. Like he has a button that he pressed to make his desire for me disappear. He pulls me up. When he’s steadied me, he puts my arms through my straps. He places his knee on the bed in between my legs and rests his head on my shoulder as he clasps the back.

When he’s backing up, he fingers my long blonde locks. “What about your hair. You want a brush or one of those hair things to pull it back?”

“Yeah. I have an elastic tie in the top drawer of my nightstand,” I cough.

He climbs off the bed and retrieves it for me. I pull my hair back, and decide to stay sitting up instead of laying back down. That heaviness in my chest was far worse when I was lying down.

He grabs the hot pink T-shirt he got from my closet. Even though we moved to Georgia when I was a little girl, I spent a lot of time with my aunt in Greer, SC. She had bought me this shirt a couple of years ago. Told me I’d always be a Carolina Girl. It has a lime green polka dot palmetto tree on it. It makes me smile.
Those South Carolinian’s love that palm tree with some polka dots
.

His lips curve into a smile. “Are you a Carolina Girl?”

I wobble my head and shrug my shoulder. “Kinda.”

He creases his eyebrows and curls his lips into a sideways sexy grin, “Kinda?”

“Born in South Carolina but raised in Georgia.”

“Well, then. You’re a Carolina Girl. Arms up,” he says very matter of fact.

Arms up
. Ah, the last time I heard him say that it was to undress me.
Damn whatever is making me feel so sick
.

“Were you a cheerleader?” he asks.

That surprises me.
Where did that come from
? “Yes. How’d you know?”

“You have those shorts cheerleaders wear. The ones that barely cover their asses,” he chuckles.

I snicker.

He holds my black Soffe shorts out, “Stand up and step into these when you do.”

I clutch his arms for balance as I stand up to step into them. Any other day there is no way in hell I’d be caught in public in this outfit he’s picked for me. But today I’m way too tired to really care. After both of my feet are in, he pulls them up to my waist. “I got you these flip flops. Figured you don’t feel like wearing socks and tennis shoes, right?”

“Right.” I’m relieved. I don’t think I have the energy for anymore dressing.

I’m still holding his arms. My head is spinning from standing up. Part of me just wants to plop back down on my bed, but I know I’m going to eventually have to make my way into the living room. He must have read my mind again because he asks, “Can you walk to the living room?”

“I have to get there eventually. I can try.”

He shakes his head and swiftly scoops me into his arms like he did in the bathroom. Too tired to really laugh, I just smile and close my eyes. “Thank you,” I mutter as I look up to him.

“The last thing I need is for you to pass out on me.” He gently puts me down onto the loveseat. “I think you’re dehydrated.”

There is no doubt in my mind. Laying back down reminds me of the heaviness in my chest. I start coughing, and now I’m worried that I won’t be able to make it back to the bathroom if I start to throw up again. I can see the same realization come to him because his eyes bulge, and he dashes to the kitchen. There are cabinet doors slamming until he finds the right one. I hear the sound of metal clanking. As he places the stock pot in my lap, I lose the ability to hold back the dry heaving.