Page 80 of Dance with Me on New Year's Eve

A throat … not my throat. Not raspy enough. My throat was killing me.

Wait, what orwhomade that sound?

I threw the blanket off my face and arms and screamed.

Amanwas sitting on the bed, less than a foot away. A fully clothed man holding a book, with a face like …

“Jeff?” I croaked out.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, setting the book down next to him. “I probably have a bruise on my leg now, thanks.”

“I’m sorry. But what are youdoinghere? I—” I stopped to coughinto my elbow.

“You’re sick. I’m taking care of you.”

Before I could unpack that crazy sentence, I started to push the hair out of my face until I thought better of it. As bad as my hair felt, it probably looked nowhere near as bad as my face. I propped my upper body on my elbow. “Um, sorry for screaming at you.”

He chuckled. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a scream, to be fair. More like a frightened whispery croak.”

I winced.

“Sorry, that came out wrong.”

I stared at him. First he’d chuckled, then he’d apologized. And he washere, in mybedroom. “Is this some kind of alternate universe? Or—I know—it’s a fever dream, isn’t it?” My head sank back into the foam pillow, and I closed my eyes. “I should go back to sleep then.”

“You can sleep again if you want, but you’re not dreaming now. You slept for a long time.” I felt a gentle nudge on my arm. “You seem a little bit more lucid now than you were yesterday.”

My eyes flew open. “You’ve been here since yesterday?” I couldn’t comprehend.

“Don’t worry, I slept on the couch,” he said. “Or I tried. It’s a little soft for my taste.”

“It’s lovingly broken in,” I said, “because I sit there a lot. I mean, not like … I’m not a couch potato. I don’t watch that much TV, only a few shows I’m really dedicated to. But I like to be comfortable, so sue me.”

He looked at me with raised eyebrows and then chuckled again. “You don’t have to explain why your couch is soft. I wasn’t criticizing you. I just happen to like sleeping on firm beds.”

I couldn’t seriously be having a conversation about what kind ofbedhe preferredwhile he was in my bed. This was beyond inappropriate. We were colleagues!

And yet there was something about him relaxed and leaning against the headboard that looked … not wrong.

I shook my head. My brain must still be waking up from the sedating cold meds.

“Are you feeling a little better?”

“Eh, a little.” I glanced over at him again. “I mean, yes. A lot better. You can go now. You’re released from sick duty. Did Hazel tell you to stay with me? I thought she only told you to bring the files.”

He scratched his head, a frown appearing on his face. “You don’t have to lie about how you’re feeling, Roxy. I’m not in a hurry to get out of here.”

I stared ahead at my half-open closet on the opposite wall while trying to process all this. “What about Lila?”

“What about her?”

“Didn’t your ex ask you to take Lila this weekend?”

“She did, yes.” He paused. “But I said no. I’ve had Lila every weekend lately, and I love it, but she also needs to spend time with her mother. Both of them actually agreed it would be nice. Besides, you are the one who told me to put my foot down with Aileen.”

“I did?” My brows furrowed. “Wait, now I remember. I can’t believe you actually took my advice.” I laughed. “You still haven’t told me why you stayed though. It’s a bit above and beyond the call of duty for a co-worker, is it not? Especially a co-worker you hate.”

He frowned and remained silent for a bit. “You might not believe me, but I don’t hate you. I actually never have.”

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