Page 34 of My Secret Bandit

“Take as long as you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” he agreed as he pulled me closer. “Well, figuratively. We have an early morning meeting before Sunday’s game, so I’ll probably be gone by the time you wake up.”

“I know. Thank you.” I smiled. “You’re pretty great, you know that?”

“Can’t lie. I’ve heard that a time or two. But coming from you it’s a million times better than anyone else.” He kissed my head, caressing my hair and back, our limbs tangled together.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. My heart sank knowing I probably wouldn’t see or talk to him until after the game tomorrow.

My phone vibrating caught my attention as I brushed my teeth. I grabbed it and found a text from Mateo.

Mateo: Good morning, beautiful. I wanted to wake you before I left, but I couldn’t do it. In case you didn’t know, you’re gorgeous when you’re sleeping. Is it weird that I miss you already? I can’t wait to have you back in my arms. See you at the game tomorrow. Unless, of course, you decide to stay. Which you’re obviously welcome to.

TheSundaymorningsunshineinvaded my room like an unwelcome guest.

I didn’t know exactly when the fever came on. Some time yesterday, I think.

It all started with a headache after lunch with Sierra. I thought maybe we’d sat outside for too long. Figured the humid air and blazing sun got the best of me. Later that night, when the nausea and full body aches rolled in, I knew it wasn’t as simple as too much sun.

Muscles cried in protest as I rolled out of bed to grab the thermometer from the bathroom before falling back onto the mattress. Pushing the button, I held the little metal tip under my tongue. A minute later, ear-piercing beeps filled the surrounding space.

Slipping the device from my lips, I held it up to squinted eyes.

103.4.

Fuck.

My hand hit down on the bed and I groaned as much as my burning throat allowed. Stumbling back into the bathroom, I downed two orange pills I knew would bring the fever down. Then I shuffled on bare feet into the kitchen and made myself a warm cup of tea with lemon and honey.

Back in the comfy warmth of my bed, I dialed Jeffrey.

“Morning, Flynn.”

“Mornin’,” I choked out.

“What’s up? You sound like you’re dying.”

“I might be. I haven’t decided yet,” I said, and he chuckled softly.

“I’m guessing you called to tell me you wouldn’t make the game, huh?”

I hummed in response. Not really an answer, but he was smart, he’d figure it out.

“All right, don’t worry about it. I got it covered. Get some rest, Jamie.”

“Thank you.”

Pulling the phone from my ear, I heard his voice again. “Hey! Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I tossed it aside and slipped further under the covers. Pulling them over my head to drown out some of the unforgiving sunlight pouring in.

I caught parts of the game as I moved in and out of sleep after finding the couch more comfortable than the bed. I didn’t know why. It could’ve been the change in textures or the way the AC left a draft moving over the burning skin of my cheeks or the fact that Iactuallymade it out of bed.

The second half rolled on while disappointment and a tinge of sadness settled on my chest. Now that I knew who Mateo was, this was supposed to be the first time I got to watch him play. Live and in person. Not only that, but it was just my second game, and I already had to call in because I was too sick and pitiful—and probably contagious—to show up.

With heavy lids, I watched New Orleans’s quarterback hand the ball off to the running back. He sprinted until arms as big as tree trunks wrapped him up. After that sleep refused to stay away any longer.

I woke to the distant sound of knocking and someone on the TV talking. I took my time getting up. Every muscle ached, and every step closer to the door made my head throb.

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