Page 84 of Boyfriend
“Well that is certainly true,” the dude agrees with a snort. “Abbi is right here, no?” He points at the door just behind him.
“That’s right, and I’m really worried about her.”
He bites his lip. “Okay, come in.”
I leap past him and knock on the wooden door to Abbi’s little studio. “Abbster, honey. Please open the door. I’m worried about you.”
There is nothing but silence. I even press my ear to the door and hear nothing.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the dude suggests.
“I can see why you’d suggest that,” I agree. “But I’m telling you—something is wrong.”
He sighs. Then he turns and heads down the little corridor toward the back of the building. A moment later I can hear him knocking on a door that’s just out of view. There’s a whispered conversation, and a tiny elderly woman with gray braids coiled on top of her head emerges with a huge number of keys on a giant ring. She’s like something out of Dickens.
“Knock again, please,” she warbles. “I don’t make a habit of breaking in on my tenants.”
I take a fist to Abbi’s door and knock urgently. “Abbi, honey. We’re worried about you. Open up.”
Nothing.
“Step aside,” Miss Havisham says, wielding one of her many keys. She unlocks the door and opens it slowly. “Oh dear,” she says, and my heart plummets. “It’s very cold in here. Like a refrigerator.”
I lose all patience, pressing the door open further and sliding past the lady as fast as I move to evade an on-ice opponent. Abbi’s room is dark, but I can make out a form in the bed. It’s ice cold in here, and I stop breathing as I approach the too-still lump on the mattress.
“Abbi. Honey.” I sit down and place a hand on the flannel of her pajamas. My heart is in my damn mouth until she shifts under my touch. “Hey beautiful,” I say in a broken whisper. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“Sick,” she rasps.
“Oh no,” I croon.
“Hurts,” she mumbles, curling more tightly in on herself. “Cold.”
I press the backs of my fingers to her forehead, which is burning up in spite of the chill in the room. “We’re going to fix you right up,” I say gently. “Everything is going to be okay.”
It has to be.
Thirty
You and I are Already Buds
Abbi
When I’d said I never wanted Weston to leave me, it may have been a miscalculation.
Because he’s so bossy. Wake up, Abbi. Drink this, Abbi.
Can’t a girl get the flu in peace?
Not to mention that I probably look terrible—like someone who’s been dipped in the fry basket at the Biscuit. Nobody wants the world’s hottest hockey player wiping sweat off her forehead. Not if he’s doing it only out of guilt.
Even if it feels really nice.
Especially when he kisses my forehead so gently afterward.
Damn it.
At one point I wake up and Dalton of all people is here. He’s fussing with an ear thermometer and calling in a prescription. “Make sure she’s getting fluids,” he says to Weston.
