Page 30 of Handle with Care
He’s genuinely confused. Not the reaction I expected.
“You know, your girlfriend.” Now it’s my turn to be confused. Obviously, his girlfriend. Who else?
“Dylan, I don’thavea girlfriend.” He frowns at me. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information. If this is yet another museum rumor?—”
“It’s not!” I frown right back. “You know, remember that night I saw you in the pub around the corner from work? With a brunette woman.”
“Are you following me around?” he asks archly, struggling to shift propped up on his arm.
“Of course not. I went to the pub with my roommate and saw you there with a beautiful woman a few weeks ago. Or maybe it was a hookup. I mean, I don’t judge.”
He sighs. “That’s my cousin. Clem.”
“Your… cousin?” I ask, sheepish. “How am I supposed to know that? I did what any reasonable person would do, which is leap to conclusions.”
“Yes. Clearly. Now, would you open the window for some fresh air?”
“Of course.” I turn and push open the window, tugging a curtain panel back for the breeze. Outside, people laugh in the street. It’s warm in here. “Do you want me to go find a fan?”
“No, it’s fine.” He’s soon settled on his side, head propped on his hand, facing me. “What time is it, anyway?”
I’m still back on the fact that the beautiful woman isn’t his girlfriend. And I’m puzzling over the relief I felt at that news. Like I care who his girlfriend is. That or another woman. What does it matter?
“It’s after seven. Nearly eight.” I smother a yawn. I’m a night owl by nature, but the early start at 5:00 a.m. today to be at the office for 7:00 a.m. is catching up with me. “You were sleeping for a few hours. There’s some stuff for you from Boots if you like. And I can get you food if you’re hungry.”
He sits up then, soon investigating the bag. “Thanks. No food, though.”
Will’s lost the green hue from earlier, so he must be improving a little. But he’s washed out.
“It’s a few small things,” I explain. “Paracetamol. Apparently, it’s some sort of painkiller, they told me. And toothpaste and toothbrushes for us. Face wash. And some peppermint essential oil. That may help settle your stomach a bit.”
“This is very kind.” He smiles at me. “Thank you.”
Will uncaps the essential oil, closing his eyes to sniff. And I take the opportunity to gaze at him, his tumble of dark hair, elegant eyebrows, high cheekbones. Honestly, he’s truly something to look at, just like his fancy cars. Even when he’s not feeling well. I only feel guilt for a fleeting moment.
“I’ll go freshen up.” He takes a couple of tablets, then takes a toothbrush and the toothpaste and heads into the en suite bathroom.
When Will returns a few minutes later, he hesitates, looking around the small room before his gaze finally lands on me. I give him a broad grin.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing. I licked one of the toothbrushes. You get to guess which one.”
“Hmm.” He runs his tongue over his teeth in a way that captures my attention. Watching his expression shift from concern to resignation is a delight. I’m not sure if he’s playing along or is simply not bothered by the prospect of my germs in his mouth. “Oh well.”
“Relax. Lie down,” I encourage. “You’ll feel better after more sleep. I can leave you to get ready for bed in peace if you want.”
He blushes then. “No, it’s fine. It’s… God, I’m sorry for ruining your plans. Your date. And imposing like this. I owe you.”
“It’s not a problem. We’ll sort things out when you’re feeling better. You seemed so rough earlier, I was really worried,” I admit. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Sometimes this happens,” Will concedes. “It’s been a while since my last migraine. And thanks. For everything.”
He stands looking at the bed. Like he’s acutely aware there’s only one bed. And there are two of us. And it’s not exactly a super king bed either.
“Like I said,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You won’t.” Will rubs his eyes, looking weary again. He sways slightly. “That’s gross.”
