Page 36 of Sinful Reality

“Mostly those words.” He flashes a devilish grin that does nothing to ease the worry in my belly. “I might’ve started with ‘this is Chief Mayet’s husband.’ Emphasis on the husband bit,” he teases. “And ended with ‘stop blowing up her phone, or I’ll break your fuckin’ hands.”

“Archer—”

“But I mentioned the bit about being sick and assured him you’d get him back when you could. Now I’m telling you, a mere two minutes after you woke. That’s me keeping my end of the deal. No jealousy. No drama. And I’m definitely not fighting with you about it.”

“God…” I burrow into the bed and close my eyes, since keeping them open is a lot of hard work, anyway. “Fine. Whatever. I’m not sick, though.” I swallow and lick my lips. “I don’t get sick.”

“Mmhm.” He sets the glass of water on the bedside table—I don’t open my eyes to watch. But I feel the shift of the bed—then the shift again as he turns back and curls around to lay on his hip and set hishand on my belly. “You were blue when we came home, Mayet. Now you’re green all over and a little smelly.”

“Stop.” I squeeze my eyes tighter. My only defense, since it’s evident I can’t run away. “I smell and I’m gross. Go away and let me rot in peace.”

“Not going away,” he chuckles, nuzzling my hair. “I’m sticking it out, in sickness and in health.”

“The vows weren’t referring to a nose leaking with green snot.”

“They were. Just like you nursed me through a bullet wound, and I got you through a shoulder reconstruction. Our vows were referring to this specifically.”

“I’m heading to work in twenty minutes.”

“No, you’re not.” He drops a kiss against my lips.

But if he thought it would be a sweet thing to do, he backs up again when my eyes snap open. “Stop kissing me! You’re gonna get sick too, dummy.”

“Funny.” He glances down at what I know is snot proudly perched atop my lip. “How could I possibly get sick if you, yourself, are not sick?”

“Shut up.” I swipe the moisture from my face and shove up in bed. And by shove up, I mean slowly, torturously bend at the hips with the last scraps of strength I possess until I’m somewhat, somehow, pointing toward the ceiling.

Though not really.

“I’m not sick. But there’s a definite sheen of mucus leaking from my anterior naris. It’s smart business, really, for you not to put that in your damn mouth, you freak.” I drag the covers off and tremble as the cold hits my naked skin, reminding me I slept in the nude.

I could do all this with so much more dignity and grace, if only I wasn’t already on my deathbed. But since I am, and pride isn’t within my budget right now, I crawl out of my sweaty hole of depression and move on my hands and knees.

Amazing show for the man I leave behind, no doubt.

If ever I wanted to be a greasy burrito left over from last week’s kitchen duties, this, right now, is surely the best representation one could conjure.

I reach the end of the bed and slowly turn to sit and place my feet onthe floor, then I stand and sway, hissing as a reminder of yesterday’s stupidity comes sprinting back to the forefront of my mind.

Dread swirls in my stomach, the expectation of black toes drumming to the same beat as my fever, but I peek and find all ten piggies still in place. No bruising. No blistering or swelling.

Oh, thank God.

“What?” Archer leans forward to look, too. “Thank God, what?”

“I said that out loud?”

His brows shoot high and his lips smack closed, stunned surprise beating in his eyes. “I mean?—”

“Never mind. Forget it.” A brand-new bout of nausea knocks at my consciousness, and darkness swims in my peripherals, taunting me with what’s coming if I’m not careful enough. So I swallow it all down and hold still until my dizziness passes. Then I turn back in search of my towel. “Cato here?”

“No.” He stares into my eyes, challenging me to do the same in return. “He’s at school. He’s worried about you, too, but I promised I’d keep an eye on you.”

“We’re here alone?” Hope jumps, though sickness keeps me humble. “No Aubree or Tim or Fletch or anyone?”

“Just me and you.” His lips curl into a playful smirk. “And one slutty cat.”

“Good.” I turn again, forgoing the towel, and walk my naked ass through the door. It’s so rare I get to do this now that Cato is our permanent guest, but for today, at least, I’m not sure I’d have the strength to get dressed even if he was here. “I need a shower, and I’m not saying I’m sick or anything, but maybe check on me in a few minutes. I have a habit of fainting in the steam when I’m a little under the weather.”

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