Page 74 of Never Your Girl

“Bother me?” I bark, trying to rein in my temper. “You’re lying in my bed, looking like you’ve been run over by a truck. You should’ve told me what was going on.”

She blinks, her expression dazed. “You had a test.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “And? I probably could have emailed the professor and taken it tomorrow.”

A weak smirk ghosts over her lips. “Now you don’t have to worry about it.”

I huff, torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to wring her neck for feeling that she always has to be so damn strong.

“Stay put,” I finally say. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, burrowing deeper into the covers.

I practically jog downstairs and head straight for the kitchen.

Riggs looks up from his phone. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“Holland’s sick,” I mutter, rummaging through the pantry. “She’s upstairs in bed.”

Ryder raises a brow. “Want me to run to the store and grab anything?”

“Nah, I got it,” I reply, grabbing a can of chicken soup.

After heating it up, I pour a glass of water, scoop up the pain meds, and start back up the stairs.

When I return, Holland has kicked off the comforter and turned her face toward the pillow. I set the tray on the nightstand and settle beside her, spooning up a small amount of soup. “All right, you’re going to need to sit up if this is going to work.”

She groans but slowly pushes herself up. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, well, tough. You need to eat.” I hold the spoon out to her.

Her glare is weak at best. “I can do it myself. I’m not a child.”

I raise a brow. “You sure about that? You kind of look like one at the moment.”

She swats at my arm, but there’s no real strength behind it. “Shut up.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She jerks her shoulders. “This morning. I had a handful of gummy bears.”

My jaw clenches. “Just have a little bit. It’ll make you feel better.”

Her eyelids droop as she murmurs, “You’re really bossy, know that?”

Something tightens in my gut. “Please, Tate. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Once she manages a few bites and takes the meds, I shift beside her, resting against the headboard. It’s a surprise when she leans her head on my shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay,” she says softly. “I know you have practice.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “Someone’s gotta stay and make sure you don’t pass out.”

She chuckles weakly, the sound barely audible. “Thanks. I think you were right about the soup. It helped.”

My lips brush the top of her head. “Hey, what are fake boyfriends for?”

Her lips curve into a small smile as her eyes flutter shut.

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