Page 30 of Ruled Out

I walk around to the side of the bed where her head is turned and notice her eyes are closed. Her back rises in sync with her steady breathing. She must have passed out when I was downstairs. God, she’s even breathtaking when she’s sleeping. Her long eyelashes are fluttering, and I hope that if she’s dreaming, it’s of something happy.

I reach into my closet, grabbing an old quilt to cover her. I would tuck her in beneath the sheets, but I don’t want to wake her. I let out a sigh of relief once her body is shielded by the quilt, thankful I no longer have the option to stare at her delicious, heart-shaped ass.

My plan was to sleep downstairs on the couch, but I don’t want to be far from her if she wakes up or gets sick. Making a new plan, I grab an extra sheet out of the closet, swipe a pillow off the bed, and make myself a pallet on the carpet beside the bed.

I’ll be lucky if I get an hour of sleep tonight. The floor feels like stone beneath me, and I toss and turn as I try to find a comfortable position. Finally, I settle with laying on my back, my hands resting on my chest as Phoebe’s soft breathing lulls me to sleep.

FOURTEEN

PHOEBE

“Ughhh,” I groan, rolling over on my side to see what time it is. The digital clock on the nightstand reads five a.m. I can tell by the moonlight shining through the window that it’s still dark outside. I know exactly where I am, in Knox’s bedroom. I may have taken one too many shots last night, but I wasn't blackout drunk. The last thing I remember is falling face first onto Knox’s heavenly bed and passing the hell out.

“Fuck,” I rasp, clenching my arms around my aching stomach. I feel like I’m going to be sick. Scratch that, IknowI’m going to be sick. I absolutelyhatethrowing up with a passion. When I’m on the verge of puking, I know it’s serious. I can only count on one hand the number of times I’ve thrown up; I avoid that shit at all costs.

The only times I’ve ever experienced panic attacks in my life is when I’m about to heave my guts up. It’s nothing short of a traumatic event for me.

“Oh God,” I whimper as a sharp pain rumbles through my stomach.

I wish Knox was here.He must have slept on the couch or in a guest bedroom. I wish he was here holding me, but I understand why he would be hesitant about sleeping next to one of his drunk athletes. I just hate getting sick alone. As pathetic as it sounds, I feel like I’m going to die when I throw up. Because of my fear, I need someone with me when I get like this, someone to calm me down and tell me I’m not dying, that it’s normal to vomit when you’re sick to your stomach.

When another wave of nausea rolls through me, I shoot straight up, still wearing my silk dress from last night. I see a door slightly cracked across the room, leading to another small room with tile flooring. Praying to God it’s Knox’s bathroom, I jump out of bed, hoping I can make it across the room before I vomit all over his spotless carpet.

“Woah! What the hell? Who’s there?” a deep voice frantically shouts, sounding startled.

It’s then I realize my feet landed on Knox’s hard-as-steel abs instead of the floor. He’s staring up at me, wide-eyed and confused, clearly coming out of a deep sleep.Did he sleep on the floor to be next to me?My brows pinch together as I think through why Knox is on the floor with nothing but a pillow and thin sheet.

Oh my God. He slept on the floor less than a foot away from me. On the cold, hard floor, just to be by my side.

“Knox, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you. I… Oh God, Knox,” I breathe out, losing my train of thought as another surge of nausea takes over my body. I feel beads of sweat breaking out across my skin as I wrap my arms around my stomach. Without looking in a mirror, I know that my face is scrunched together in pain.

“Phoebe,” Knox says, immediately rising to his feet and cradling my sweaty face in his palms. His eyes dart back and forth between mine, searching for an answer. “What is it? Are you okay?”

All I can manage to do is shake my head. I can feel the bile rising to my throat as anxiety starts to take over my senses.

“Talk to me, Bee. You have to tell me what’s wrong. Are you sick? What hurts?” He’s talking a mile a minute, worry etched into every beautiful line of his face.How in the hell is my mind still focused on his beauty when I literally feel like I’m dying a slow death?

“Phoebe, you’re scaring the shit out of me! What do you need? Who do I need to call?” he asks in a hurried tone. He looks so scared. No one has ever looked at me with this much concern on their face. Concern for me. I muster all the strength I have to respond.

“I’m sick. I need to throw up, but I’m scared,” I whimper, my words almost coming out as a cry. “Knox, fuck… it hurts,” I croak, burying my face into his warm neck and wrapping my shaking arms around his torso.

“What are you afraid of, Bee?” he whispers in my ear, gently rubbing circles into my back with his big hands.

“Throwing up. I hate it,” I breathe out against his neck, letting a lone tear slide down my cheek.

“I’ve got you. I would never let anything happen to you,” he soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. He wraps his arms under my legs, circling them around his waist and carrying me to the bathroom. I’m clinging to him like a koala, like he’s my lifeline. He kicks a plush rug in front of the toilet and softly sets me down on my knees, my body facing the bowl. In less than a second, he’s kneeling behind me, his body pressed to mine. He drapes his strong arms around my middle, holding me to him.Is he really going to hold me like this while I puke my guts out?

“Knox, you don’t have to do this,” I say, embarrassed. “You can stand outside the door if you want.”

“Do you want me here?” he asks, his voice a soft brush against my ear.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper, answering truthfully.

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he immediately responds. My heart clenches at his words. “Give me your wrist,” he says, removing his arm from my waist to reach for my hand.

“What…” I say, before realizing what he’s doing.

He slowly slides my black hair tie off my wrist to tie my hair back in a ponytail.Holy shit, this man is everything.After securing my hair, he wraps me in his arms again before speaking.

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