Page 92 of Romancing the Grump
I said I didn’t want a relationship, and I don’t. Yes, there’s been attraction—I’m not stupid enough to deny it—but I’veworked hard to keep myself from imagining what it would feel like to let Summer in.
I haven’t let myself imagine what it might feel like to love her.
But Summer is cracking me open, and now I can’t stop the thoughts. It must be the fever, because my brain is inventing scenarios in record speed, taking snatches of possibility and knitting them together into clear images in my mind.
Summer here, in my apartment, curled up next to me on the couch, leaning up to kiss me simply because she can.
Summer at a hockey game, wearing my jersey forrealinstead of just for Parker’s publicity stunt, cheering for me louder than she cheers for anyone else, meeting me after the game to kiss me her congratulations.
Summer meeting my mom, my sister and brother, crouching down to say hello to my nieces, making everyone feel better just for having seen her smile.
And of course, a scenario I don’t have to imagine because I’m living it right now. Summer in my shower, her hands on my body, her lips on my skin.
My head throbs, and a shiver runs through me, despite the warm water running over me, and I let a little more of my weight shift onto Summer.
She holds me steady, then squeezes my shoulders. “You have to take care of the rest of you on your own, okay?” Her voice is close to my ear, her words soft. “Can you do that?”
I nod, understanding that she needs to leave but wanting her to stay at the same time. If I had even an ounce more strength in my body, I’m not sure I could keep myself from pulling her onto my lap right here, water streaming over us, and taking her mouth with mine.
Instead, I reach up and catch Summer’s hand, pulling it tomy lips. I kiss the side of her wrist, then the knuckle above her thumb. I press the back of her hand against my cheek. “Thank you,” I say softly, lifting my gaze to meet hers.
Her hair is damp, and her cheeks are flushed, and I’m pretty sure she’s never looked more beautiful.
As soon as she’s gone, I drop the towel from around my waist and do a very meager job of cleaning the rest of my body. It’s a good thing Summer washed my hair, because I’m one hundred percent certain I would never have been able to hold my arms up long enough to do it myself.
I turn off the water and find a clean, dry towel hanging on the hook outside the shower door. I run it over my hair, then wrap it around my waist before leaning against the wall to catch my breath. When I finally make it to the bathroom door, Summer meets me there with a second towel, which she drapes over my shoulders, then ushers me to my closet, where she’s put the second barstool from the kitchen.
She thought of everything.
She’shere,taking care of me, and she thought ofeverything.
“Okay, so…I don’t know where anything is, but if you give me instructions, I’ll retrieve whatever you need, then leave you to get dressed,” Summer says, her hands perched on her hips. She’s still in her tank top, herwettank top, and I can see gooseflesh up and down her arms. She’s probably freezing.
“What about you?” I say as I lower myself onto the stool.
“I’ve got a sweatshirt. I’ll grab it and change once you’re settled.”
I don’t have the energy to argue with her, so I point to a pair of joggers and a t-shirt on the shelf of my closet and tell her where to find a pair of boxers for me. The drawer might as well be a mile away for how terrible I’m feeling. If I’m notin my bed soon, I’m going to fall over. Summer has already done enough for me today. I can’t bear the thought of her trying to hoist me off the floor for a second time just to help me into bed.
I get dressed as quickly as I can, leaving the t-shirt behind. Mostly because it fell onto the floor and that felt really far away, but also because Summer’s still here, and she just washed vomit out of my hair. Going shirtless might not completely erase her memory of that, but it can’t hurt.
When I finally emerge from the closet, she’s standing next to the bed, water and a bottle of Tylenol in her hand. I stumble over, collapsing into the bed with a groan.
My head throbs from the effort, but at least I’m down and clean and…wait, did she change the sheets?
“Not so fast,” Summer says as she nudges my legs, which are still hanging off the edge of the bed. “You need to hydrate. And I have drugs to bring your fever down. Come on.” She nudges me again. “You’ve made it so far. A little more work, and you can finally sleep.”
I roll over, pulling my feet onto the bed and shifting so I’m under the covers. I’m not sure my bed has ever been made so neatly.
I prop myself up on my elbow and take the bottle from Summer, then hold out my palm, where she drops three pills. I eye them warily, not wanting to repeat what happened an hour ago, when my body decided to expel everything it possibly could. She must sense my hesitation because she nods toward a bucket that’s sitting next to my bed. It looks like the bucket I use when I wash my car, so I’m guessing she pulled it out of my garage.
“Just in case,” she says.
Great.So great.Nothing beats talking about literal barf buckets with the woman you’re—actually, I don’t know whatwe are. We’resomething,if my epiphany in the shower is any indication, but I’d rather think about it with a clear head before making any formal declarations.
I sigh and swallow the pills, draining half the bottle of water in the process. Or…not just water? It tastes like Liquid IV, and it’s all I can do not to guzzle the entire thing. I collapse back onto the pillow, letting Summer take the bottle and set it on my nightstand.
Wordlessly, she moves back to my closet and disappears inside. When she reemerges, she’s wearing a pair of my pajama bottoms, rolled down at the waist and swallowing her whole, and a hoodie that must be hers because I’ve never seen it before.
