Page 28 of Puck of the Irish

Do horses have good immune systems?

Rizzo: IDFK but “healthy as a horse” is a saying for a reason, isn’t it? So, I’m going with yes, they have great immune systems.

Rizzo: Not the point. Focus, Morgan. Do you need anything?

I huff out a laugh.

No, I’m ok. Thanks.

An hour later, I hear my front door opening. Could be dad or Hattie—or someone breaking in, but at this point, they can take whatever they want. I don’t care. I couldn’t move to stop them even if I wanted to. To my utter surprise, it’s Rizzo who strolls into the living room, several shopping bags hanging from his arms. I blink in surprise and am suddenly very aware of how disgusting I must look. My hair is in a dirty, messy bun. I’d had a fever on and off all night and morning, so at many points I was a sweaty pile of gross. No make up. Old sweats…and embarrassingly, his Cornell Hockey hoodie that I stole that very first night. I may or may not wear it almost every night.

“What are you doing here?” I moan, trying to sit up. It takes a couple of tries and the room sways when I first make it upright, but eventually it levels out.

“Nursing you back to health, obviously,” he says from behind the couch, unpacking the bags and setting things on the counter. I turn to watch: at least eight different kinds of medicine, cough drops, candy, soup—chicken and stars, my favorite from when I was kid. My heart twists a little at the fact he remembered me telling him that one drunken night—Gatorades, orange juice, pretzels, and saltines.

“Jesus, Rizz,” I breathe, sounding stuffy and horrible.

“Well, I didn’t know exactly what was wrong, so I came prepared for anything. Where are your glasses and what are your symptoms? Also, I borrowed Mac’s key, I did not pick the lock, in case you were wondering.”

I huff out a laugh and point to the cabinet beside the fridge before giving him a rundown of what’s wrong. He nods, rummages through all the medicine boxes, and selects a winner.He comes around and squats down in front of the couch, handing me first the glass and then the meds.

“You didn’t have to do all this. What if I get you sick!” I protest, suddenly worried for his health. He arches a brow.

“You had your tongue down my throat yesterday afternoon. I’m pretty sure I would have already been compromised.” I can’t help but laugh at that, and he gestures for me to take the medicine. I roll my eyes but obey. The juice is cold and delicious and I’ll admit that I was thirsty as hell but was just too tired to get up for myself before now.

“Thank you,” I say after I drain nearly the entire glass. He takes it from me and sets it on the coffee table. His eyes dip to my—his—sweatshirt and his lips curl upward, but he doesn’t comment.

“Are you hot? Cold?”

“A little cold,” I admit. He grabs another blanket from the ladder in the corner and settles it over me. “Thanks, Rizzo. This is…it was really nice of you.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he shrugs. “But I would expect you to be in a slutty nurse costume. Just for future reference.” I can’t help but laugh and he gives me that easy, sexy smile that I love so much. I expect him to leave then but instead he slides onto the couch and settles my pillow in his lap.

“You don’t have to?—”

“What are we watching?” he asks, cutting me off and giving me a look that says there will be no arguing. He pats the pillow and waits. I sigh but lie back down. He tugs the blanket up over my shoulder and rests his hand there. I really shouldn’t be as happy as I am that he’s here and I’m trying really hard not to read too much into this. It’s just a friend helping a friend. Like he said, I would do the same for him, and if Shep hadn’t just gotten out of the hospital, I’m sure Hattie would be the one here doing all of this for me.

“Sleep, Nat. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And with that, I close my eyes and drift off in his lap.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I mutter to myself for the hundredth time as I walk down the sidewalk towards the high rise a few days later. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m in the lobby and walking up to the security desk.This is never going to work.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” the young guy behind the desk asks. He’s got light brown skin, is ridiculously toned, with a diamond stud in one ear and a tattoo curling up one side of his neck. I think he’s the same one that was here the first time I was here, but can’t be completely sure. I was admittedly pretty distracted that night.

“Hi,” I say with a smile, putting on my best schmoozing voice. I learned from the best, and when I want something, I can usually get it. “I know this might sound a little crazy, but I’m actually here to see Anthony Rizzo. I’m a friend,” I add, making sure he doesn’t think I’m just a crazy fan…but then I realize of course a crazy fan would say that. “Seriously, we’re friends. See—” I show him my phone. My background photo is the Sin Bin hanging out on Shep’s back deck, and Rizzo has his arm thrown around both me and Bobby. The guy looks at the pic and nods, but I feel like I’m blowing this. I’m usually much better, but this whole thing with Rizzo has me all…flustered.

“So, anyway,” I look around and lean in, “I was hoping to surprise him, and I know that it’s probably against all kinds of rules but?—”

“Are you Natalie Morgan, by chance?” he asks and I snap my mouth shut, blinking.

“Um, yes?”

“Here you go, you’re all set.” He slides a black key card to me across the marble counter and smiles, showing off pearly whites and one dimple.

“He was…expecting me?” I ask, frowning.

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