Page 138 of The Overtime Kiss

“I’ll be fine,” she says, as I round the corner to the living room, heading straight for the couch.

“You’ll be fine because I’m going to take care of you,” I say, in a firm, clear voice.

Her shoulders curl inward. “But I’m gross.”

“You’re not gross.”

She coughs into her elbow as I set her down. “I’m gross.”

I laugh. “Hush, baby.”

I set her gently on the couch and Drama readjusts herself, giving me a slightly haughty look like she can’t believe I’ve dragged her two-and-a-half-pound cuteness upstairs. Sabrinaclutches the tuxedo kitten a little more tightly. I head to the kitchen, find the thermometer on the counter there, then return and quickly scan her forehead.

I shake my head, tsking her. “You’re one hundred two. You’re getting some medicine.”

She pouts but nods. I give her Tylenol, pour some Gatorade, and hold the cup for her as she sits up and drinks from it. She doesn’t drink that much, so I say, “A little more.”

She takes another sip of the cherry-flavored drink, then hands it back to me.

But I give it back to her. “You need to get liquids inside you, baby,” I say.

She sighs then drinks some more.

“Now you need to rest,” I tell her. She settles into the couch, but I shake my head and once more I scoop her up along with the kitten, and I carry her up the stairs again.

“Tyler, why are you taking me up here?”

“Because you’re sick, and you need the emperor bed.”

She rests her head against my chest and that feels like exactly where she should be.

She falls asleep in my bed, tucked under her blanket and my cover, with Drama curling up on top of the pillow. I change out of my suit into basketball shorts and a hoodie and check on Sabrina constantly, making sure she’s comfortable and not burning up. She coughs faintly a few times but doesn’t wake. The lights are low and I’m sitting in a chair, reading on my tablet.

Her eyes flutter open around ten-thirty and she stares at me, a little confused. Then says, “Where am I?”

“My room, baby.”

“Where are the kids?”

“With my mom. They’re spending the night there.”

She nods, a sign she’s remembered everything. She pushes up and swings her legs out of bed. “I have to pee.”

I’m up and out of the chair in no time, offering her a hand.

“I can stand,” she says weakly.

“I know, but let me help you,” I say with my hand still held out. She takes it and I walk with her to the bathroom door, then leave her be.

She shuts the door, and a few minutes later, trudges back to bed. I help her into it. She shivers a little, and I check her temperature again. “You’re one hundred one. That’s good,” I tell her. “Can you drink some more Gatorade?”

“Maybe,” she says.

I grab a water bottle that I already filled with the cherry drink. “Your favorite flavor.”

“A Popsicle might be good,” she says, with the tiniest tease in her voice, and that makes me smile over the memory of the Popsicle and the fact that she can make a joke right now.

“If you want a Popsicle, I’ll get you one,” I say.

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