Page 90 of Romancing the Grump
He shakes his head. “Please just go. You can’t—I don’t want…” He swallows, and it looks like it takes him a great deal of effort. His eyes are a little sunken in, and his face is pale, despite the fever blush brightening his cheeks. Poor guy must be so dehydrated. “I don’t want you here,” he finally rasps out.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the sting of his words. I’m guessing it’s only his pride that’s making him say them, but it sucks to hear them anyway. “Then you shouldn’t have texted me. Now I’m here, and you’re stuck with me,” I shoot back. “At least until you’re back in bed and feeling better. You might as well stop fighting and make it easier on us both.”
He’s still for a long moment, his eyes closed, and I get the sense it’s really hard for him to keep them open.
“I texted you?”
I sigh and sink back onto my heels. “You did. And I’m here now.”
He slumps to the side, his head falling against the wall, and for a second, I worry he’s passed out. But when I lean forward, taking his face in my hands, he leans into my touch.He’s still with me, just really weak. “Nathan, honey, come on. I need you to think. Is there anything in your house you could sit on in the shower? A bench, maybe? Something that could handle getting wet?”
He opens his eyes, and I half expect him to argue, to tell me there’s no way he’s showering with me here to help him. But he must have used up all his fight because he breathes out a long sigh, then drops his head back. “Metal barstools.”
Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“In the kitchen?”
He nods.
“Perfect. I’ll be right back.”
I hurry to the kitchen and grab a barstool, then stop to get a couple of towels from the linen closet in the hallway. I have no idea how I’m actually going to make this work, but I keep reciting Lucy’s words in my head. This is apracticalsituation, not a sexual one. He needs help, I’m helping him. It doesn’t have to be weird.
Luckily, Nathan’s shower is glorious, big and spacious with two shower heads and a third hand sprayer. I set the barstool down in the center of the space, then step back to assess. If I play this right, I should be able to stand in the shower with him and not even get wet. At least not completely.
I turn on the water to let it warm up, then peel off my hoodie and take off my socks and shoes, leaving me in leggings and a black tank top.
“Okay,” I say, crouching down in front of Nathan one more time. “Time to do this.” Slowly, I roll his t-shirt up his body, doing my best to keep the vomit-stained side from touching the rest of him.
He shivers again, his teeth chattering together in a way that makes him seem childlike, though there’s nothing childlikeabout his torso. It’s just as perfect as it was the first time I saw it. Big and broad—and, I’m guessing, exceptionally heavy.
I place my feet on either side of his legs, which are extended in front of him, and slip my arms under his, wrapping them around his back. “Okay, we’re going to stand up now,” I say. “Just lean on me. Hopefully we won’t both topple over.”
Nathan is silent as he slowly pushes his feet under him, then stands. As soon as we’re upright, his weight shifts onto my shoulders, and I have to brace myself to hold him up. His back curves as his head drops right into the crook of my neck, so close that I can feel his exhale brushing across my skin.
“Spinning,” he says, his lips close enough that I feel their movement. “I’m spinning.”
“Just hold still a minute,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
He relaxes a little more, and I flex my quads, pushing through my feet. Back in my college days, I could easily squat over two hundred pounds, but Nathan feels ten times heavier than that.
“You smell good,” he says, his tone begrudging, like it actually pains him to admit it.
I let out a little chuckle. “Anything smells good next to you.”
“True.”
“You ready to do this?” I rub a hand over his back, grateful that, at least for now, it seems like he’s done fighting. Keeping one arm around him, I reach over and open the shower door, then grab the clean towel I pulled out of his linen closet when I prepared the shower.
Don’t make this weird, don’t make this weird, don’t make this weird.
“Here,” I say, wrapping the towel around his waist on top of his pajama bottoms. “This will be better than wearing your clothes, and I’m not washing your hair for you if you’re totally naked. It’s your one job, all right? You just have to hold the towel. I’ll take care of everything else.”
He takes a step backward and hits the wall, shaking his head. “You don’t have to wash my hair. I can—” His words cut off when he wobbles to one side, and I jump forward to catch him.
“Nathan, stop it,” I say firmly. “I’m here. I’m helping. And you’re starting to piss me off by refusing to let me. You can’t do this alone. Now swallow your pride and get over yourself, or I’m going to wash your hair in cold water instead of hot. I promise I’ll go as soon as you’re safely back in bed. Let’s just do this so that can happen sooner than later.”
With a resigned huff, Nathan stands upright, gripping the towel long enough to step out of the pajama bottoms and the boxer briefs he’s wearing underneath. “So bossy,” he mutters as we move toward the open shower door, and I smile. I’vedefinitelyheard that one before.
