Page 97 of Puck and Prejudice

She walks over, smiling in a way that makes my skin crawl. Or maybe it’s the fever. I don’t know.

“I don’t care. Let me take care of you, Jacks.”

I step back. “I don’t need you to take care of me. Just go, Caroline. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

She pouts. “This isn’t a game, Darcy. I’m legit worried about you. I’ll make you chicken soup.”

“You don’t cook.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “Fine. I’ll order some chicken soup.”

“You know what? Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

I go back to my room and lock the door behind me to be safe. I don’t trust Caroline not to come in here while I’m sleeping. She already went through my stuff while I was in the shower. I locate my phone to text Izzie, but then I remember it died a while ago. I plug it in to charge so I can finally talk to her. She’s the only person I want taking care of me right now. I close my eyes for a second, and oblivion takes over.

ChapterThirty-Eight

JACKSON

Ifeel like hell when I finally wake up, and my body is even more sore than yesterday. I passed out last night without shutting the drapes, and judging by the brightness in my room, I’d say it’s midday already. I reach for my phone to check the time and confirm it’s already a quarter past noon.

Hell. I missed several calls from Ted, Chad, and even the GM. Was I supposed to do something today? I can’t fucking remember.

No missed calls from Izzie though, or any texts. I frown, staring at my phone, then realize I never called her last night like I planned. Fuck.

I read the texts I did receive from Ted and confirm that I was supposed to attend a charity event at a golf club at eleven. Oh well. I reply to Ted and tell him I have the flu.

His reply is swift.

TED: I’ll let everyone know you’re sick.

Okay.

I’m not really in the mood to call the boss anyway.

TED: I’ll bring you a care package. But I’m not coming in.

I snort. Of course he won’t. Ted’s the biggest germaphobe I know.

I don’t need a care package.

TED: Don’t care. You’re getting one. Now is not the time to be sick.

Okay… MOM.

I’m not surprised when he replies with a middle-finger emoji. Ted is a pain in the ass, but he gets the job done with minimum input from me. I barely need to see him in person.

Now that Ted is working on updating everyone, I call Izzie. I missed her yesterday—and all the other days of the week. It’s crazy how much I’ve come to care for her in such a short time.

The phone rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. I try to leave her a message, but my throat is so sore that I sound like a frog. I’m not sure if she’ll understand a word I said.

Just left you a voice message. In case you can’t tell, I got the flu.

She sees the message, so I expect her to reply right away or call me, but minutes go by and nothing. Shit. That can’t be good. I rack my brain, trying to think if I did something that would make her mad at me, but I can’t think of anything.

Maybe she’s just busy and can’t reply.

I force myself out of bed to grab a bottle of Gatorade. One thing I do know is that I need to hydrate. Everything hurts when I walk. I can’t remember the last time I got this sick. Ted is right, this isn’t the time to have the flu. Maybe his care package will help.

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