Page 100 of Just Act Natural

I wish I’d stayed there in the first place.

The day and night are a miserable blur of feverish chills and frantic vomiting. I try to dissociate. It’s not me puking my guts out while Grant holds my hair. It’s not me stripping down to a tank top and shorts because I’m so terribly hot. It’s not me lying on the cool bathroom tile while Grant strokes my back and puts wet washcloths on my forehead.

He stays through it all.

It’s horrifically mortifying.

It’s incredibly comforting.

I wake up in my bed, daylight poking at my eyelids. I’ve got that too-aware sense of clamminess that lets me know my fever broke. I’m still too hot, but that might be because I’m cuddling something warm. No, wait.

Someone.

I crack an eye open, and it takes a minute to register that my hand is wrapped around Grant’s bare thigh. He’s sitting up next to me in my bed—fully dressed in shorts and a shirt, FYI—but I’ve got a death grip on his leg just above his knee. Why is my number one goal in sleep,cling to Grant?

Oh. Well. I guess I know the answer to that.Because he’s deliciously cuddly.

I tilt my head to peer up at him. He’s smiling over one of my paperbacks. This man is reading one of my rom-coms. If I had any strength, seeing him like this would whisk it all away.

Eventually, his eyes catch mine, and he sets the book aside. He gently brushes hair from my face, delicately trailing his fingers over my skin. “How are you feeling?”

“Less like a goblin. You’re reading one of my books.”

“The vampire cat is an interesting take.”

“He’s one of my favorites.”

His fingers smooth over my hair, and he smiles at me as though he didn’t watch me empty my stomach all night. “What do you need?”

“I need to know how long I’ve been accosting you like this.” I extend my fingers…and curl them around his thigh again. I will claim medical immunity.

“Not long. Next?”

“I’m sorry you missed the fireworks. They were supposed to be really fantastic.” All part of the Fourth Fest Extravaganza I tried to provide and utterly failed to witness.

“I’m not sorry. What else?”

Hmm. Not food—that feels too optimistic. Not more cuddles—sleep-Lila apparently gorged on them.

“Maybe a shower.” I’m still sticky from sweat, and I probably smell like a sewer.

“I’ll help you.” He hops out of bed, coming around to hover and help me sit up.

I’m still a little woozy, but my stomach doesn’t lurch at the change of position. That counts as a good sign. He slips an arm around my waist and slowly helps me to the bathroom, stopping on the way so I can grab a clean change of clothes. He arranges me on the closed toilet seat while he starts the shower as though we do this every day. When the temperature’s just right, he kneels in front of me.

“If you have trouble standing on your own, I’ll help you shower.”

I stare at him until an actual hint of pink hits his cheeks. He just might be the sweetest, most wonderful man in the world. Universe, even. Not even Krypton makes them like him.

“Platonically,” he adds.

“Are we? Platonic?” This isn’t the smoothest time for defining our relationship, but he’s the one who cracked that door open.

“No. But I can be a gentleman in a medical emergency.”

“You’re always a gentleman, but I think I’ve got it.”

He nods once, leans forward to kiss my forehead, and stands. “Call me if you need me.”

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