Page 64 of Catching Sparks

Anna Banana: Johnny told me you took Garrison home?

Ice Ice Baby: No way. I’m OMW.

Anna Banana: She is not on her way. Text us later. Love you and try not to poison him. My boyfriend would be pretty upset if he lost his job.

The last message was from twenty minutes ago. A half hour past when we were supposed to meet for lunch.

I tap my fingers quickly, sending off two texts, one to Bryce and another to Anna, before pocketing my phone.

Me: Call you tonight. I’m sorry for missing lunch xoxo

Me: Thank you for that. Call later. Nobody is losing their job xoxo

Sunlight shines through the cracks in my open blinds, so I slant them shut before tugging the blackout curtains together. I collect a few pills and a bottle of water before rounding the bed and crouching, taking the now warm cloth from Garrison’s forehead. Chunks of hair droop over the damp skin, but I sweep them away with my knuckle, fighting alarm at his temperature as I drop the cloth to the nightstand.

“Hey, you need to take medicine,” I whisper, stroking down the side of his face, over the lines beside his eyes and the dark bags beneath them.

He’s so handsome that I’m positive his relationship status reads as single only because he wants it to. There’s no way, even with his oftentimes harsh demeanour, that women don’t flock to him. He’s rich and good-looking. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

I like to think that not many know about his protectiveness, humour, or passion. I’d prefer to gatekeep those qualities for a while.

He makes a deep noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t open his eyes. The pillow beneath his head is damp, a deeper purple in a few spots as opposed to the soft lilac it should be. His stubble scratches at the material when he turns his head and rubs his cheek all over it. My stomach flutters at how unintimidating he looks like this. How almost peaceful he appears, even if he is sick.

“Just let me give you your medicine and take your temperature. Then you can go back to sleep.” I let my finger trail lower, over the dip of his cheekbone and swell of his upper lip.

His mouth opens, and I freeze for a heartbeat before removing my finger. “You shouldn’t be this close to me. I’ll get you sick.”

The garbled words sound worse than they did before he fell asleep. All of the talking isn’t helping. The way he winces before his throat bobs worries me.

“Don’t speak. Just listen to me,” I scold lightly, offering the two yellow pills toward him.

“It isn’t poison, right?” he groans, dragging his arm from beneath the blanket to take the pills between his fingers. I help him sit up enough to drink and then hand him the water bottle, lid already off. He pops the pills before taking a long swig.

“You’re the second person to question whether or not I’m going to try poisoning you. I’d never choose something so obvious if I truly wanted to off you.”

“What would you choose?” he asks, handing me back the water.

I scowl at how full it still is, but he’s already tucking his arm back in before I get a chance to demand he drink some more. Hot tea is probably a better option.

Taking his temperature is my next task, so I gently pull the comforter down his chest until I can lift his arm and tuck the thermometer in his pit.

“We’re not going to talk about my murder preferences right now. You’re not supposed to be speaking at all.”

“If I stopped speaking every time someone wanted me to, I wouldn’t be a CEO,” he croaks.

“I do imagine that means you have quite a few enemies at your office.”

“More than a few.”

“You’re the hard-ass boss, right? The guy everyone fears disappointing but loves to impress?”

“That’s what makes me good at my job.”

I shrug a shoulder, pulling the thermometer out of his armpit when it beeps. The number on the tiny screen isn’t terrifying, but it isn’t good either. We need to lower his temperature.

“Do you have any friends back home, or are you too busy for those?” I ask, setting the thermometer on the nightstand and grabbing the damp face cloth.

He watches me as I move, his eyes so glazed that he looks drunk. It’s hard to tell if the flash of emotion that flicks through them is sadness or exhaustion.

---