Page 20 of Wild Fixation
“Drink all of it,” I say.
Jacob grumbles but complies, swallowing down the tabs quickly, then pounding back the water. He tips his head back farther and farther as he drinks, water spilling out of the sides of his mouth. Fat drops slink down his throat and spill over his smooth chest. I don’t catch myself watching until the water soaks into the waistband of his pants.
When I drag my eyes up, Jacob is watching me. His smile is quieter this time, sleepier.
“You’re taking care of me again,” he says.
His voice is soft in the dark, raw, real. He’s always himself, even with a million cameras in his face, but he tends to smile for those cameras no matter how he actually feels. This quieter smile, the edge of sadness in his eyes — those are things he doesn’t let the outside world see. Does he think they’ll stop loving him if they see this side of him? If so, he couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful in my life as this slouched, disheveled, half-naked version of him, this soft, raw version free of all pretense.
“I told you,” I say, voice quiet, “it’s my job.”
“Your job could have ended after shoving me in an elevator,” he says. He hiccups, then evidently swallows something bitter down. “Oh God, I’m a mess tonight. What, you aren’t going to try to make me feel better?”
“I’m here for your safety, not your ego.”
Jacob snorts. “Oh, don’t worry. You’reawfulfor my ego. The one man I can’t have.”
He doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said, tipsy and exhausted as he is, but the words are like a punch to the chest for me. The one man he can’t have. Is he serious? He could have anyone,anyone. Why bother with me?
“You should rest,” I say. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” he says, but he shuffles down like he’s going to get under the sheets anyway.
I stop him before he gets too far. He’s still got shoes and pants on, and that’s only going to make this worse. He stops his wriggling to let me pry the shoes off, but then come the pants and… They didn’t look this tight when he was bouncing around the club, but when I carefully, delicately unzip them and start pulling them down, they cling to his legs like they’re painted on. I turn my gaze aside, studying a wall instead of looking closer as I peel the garment off him. Jacob doesn’t notice, shuffling right under the sheets and curling himself up in them like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Tomorrow, he’ll hop out of bed, every bit the beautiful butterfly everyone expects. But tonight…
Tonight I can’t possibly leave him. I spy a chair in the corner. I steal a pillow and an extra blanket off the bed, then bundle myself up in the corner, setting my glasses beside the chair and kicking my shoes off but otherwise remaining fully clothed. It’ll be a long, stiff, uncomfortable night, but I’m not abandoning him in his current state.
“Goodnight,” I whisper as I settle in.
His only response is deep, peaceful breathing. I lean back in the chair, watching him across the room until exhaustion overtakes me.
Chapter Eleven
Jacob
A POUNDING HEADACHE wakes me. I jolt upright when I recognize my bedroom around me, and instantly regret the sudden movement. I groan, leaning on the headboard. The wood is cool against my bare skin. Wait. Bare skin. My bedroom. How the hell did any of this happen? The last thing I remember is getting in the car and drinking the whiskey I found in the mini fridge. After that, it’s all a blur.
I rub my eyes, taking several deep breaths before opening them again — and finding Seth sleeping in a chair in the corner of my room.
My eyes fly wide, my headache forgotten. He’s fully dressed from what I can tell, a blanket wrapped around him as he slouches in the chair. His shoes and glasses sit on the floor beside him. As I gape, he takes a deeper breath, seeming to sense my movement, and straightens up. He clears his throat as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and stands. In moments, he’s folded up the blanket, retrieved his glasses and shoes, and smoothed down his rumpled clothing, looking every bit like he’s on the job.
Still, I’m dumb enough to open my big mouth and say, “Did we…”
One eyebrow quirks up, but Seth doesn’t otherwise react. “You needed help getting to bed. I gave you water and ibuprofen. I apologize for undressing you, but you needed to sleep. Then I stayed to make sure you didn’t get sick overnight.”
“Oh,” I say. “I… Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
“I did.”
He speaks with such rigid finality, yet his eyes flicker to my bare chest. The look is brief, a flash I hardly believe was real, and Seth moves on immediately.
“You should have more medicine,” he says.
Then he sweeps out of the room, and I’m left sitting in my bed blinking with confusion. The headache creeps back in, a slow, crawling thing like vines choking a riverbank. By the time Seth returns with water and ibuprofen, the pain pounds like a drumbeat inside my skull, and I accept his help downing the pills.
“You should eat,” he says.
His hand is on my back, helping me sit up. I lean into it unconsciously, searching for the comfort of human connection as my body rebels against what I did to it last night. Maybe that’s what makes me bold enough to say, “You should eat too.”
