Page 45 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“I’m not going to take a bath, Kate. I’m a man. Men don’t take baths.”

She rolled her eyes. “The steam will help unclog your face. So will the Epsom salt, which has the added benefit of easing body aches. Take off your clothes, Max.”

“I don’t want to,” I said piteously. “I’m cold.”

“The water is hot. It will feel good, I promise.” She tugged gently at my sweater. “Arms up, honey.”

Well. I didn’t have it in me to fight her. Not when she called me honey.

My clothes came off with help from Kate, and I settled slowly into the bathtub, sinking in as deeply as my too-large body would allow. A moan of relief escaped me as the hot, salty water enveloped my aching limbs.

Kate made a squeaking sound, and I cracked open one heavy eyelid to peer at her. Her face was flushed—maybe from the heat of the room, but considering the way her gaze traveled down my body, lingering over my abs and one thigh that peeked above the water, I doubted that.

I wasn’t so sick that her attention didn’t make me feel good.

“Kate. Are you enjoying this?”

“No,” she said defensively. “Because that would be wrong. How could I enjoy you being naked and wet when you feel so miserable and sick? But…” She leaned forward, kissed my cheek in a way that made my body stir a little, because hell, it was only a sinus infection. Her lips grazed my ear as she whispered, “But I’m not not enjoying it.”

My dick perked up, just a little bit.

“Now,” she said briskly, getting to her feet. “Relax. Let the heat and the steam and the salt do their thing. Holler if you need something.”

You, I thought. I need you.

But that was the phlegm talking. I didn’t need anyone. This wasn’t my first sinus infection; I had survived plenty of them and would live to sneeze another day. I could take care of myself. Anyway, she was already gone, shutting the door behind her to preserve the heat and steam. A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.

I let my eyes drift closed, holding myself on the edge of sleep, dozing lightly but not fully surrendering. At some point, she returned, because I could hear her in another room, bustling around, doing God knew what. Honestly, I didn’t care. Whatever she wanted to do was fine with me.

A weird feeling, because normally I would care very much. I didn’t like people in my house, in my things. Not because I had anything to hide, but because they were mine. Even now, decades after everything I owned could fit in the garbage bag I carried from foster home to foster home, my instincts reminded me that people touching my stuff was the first step to people taking my stuff.

But right now, it was hard to listen to those instincts over the sound of Kate singing to herself. Badly. I grinned.

With the water tepid and my fingers pruney, I reluctantly toweled off. Kate was right. I did feel slightly less congested and more relaxed. I wrapped the towel around my waist and went off in search of her.

I found her in my bedroom, changing the sheets on my bed. She looked up when I entered.

“These are nice,” she said, smoothing the top sheet across the bed. “Bamboo?”

“Yeah. Life is too short for scratchy sheets.” I watched her a moment, anxiety creeping up my spine. What was happening? Why was she still here? It had been over an hour. She had already brought me soup and picked up my medicine. Wasn’t that enough? “What are you doing, Kate?”

“Clean sheets feel good when you’re sick, and yours were…a little sweaty.” She wrinkled her nose. “Your fever was probably higher last night. That happens sometimes. Anyway, I threw them in the wash. They’re in the dryer now.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” I snapped.

She raised her eyebrows at me. “I have lots of things to do, but no. I don’t have anything better to do right now than to make sure you’re comfortable. Jean is covering the afternoon shift at Sweet Things, and the archery team doesn’t have another practice until Thursday. Jessica is getting a ride home with a friend.”

The anxiety crept higher. She had dropped everything…for me. I couldn’t fathom it. Why would she do that? I was pretty certain I wouldn’t, if our situations were reversed. In fact, I knew I wouldn’t. Because I never had.

It had never once occurred to me to bring a sick girlfriend soup. Or run her a bath. Or change her sheets.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I grumbled. I knew I sounded like an ungrateful asshole, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“You don’t have to ask. I’m happy to do it. I care about you, Max.”

“I don’t want to make your life messy.”

She laughed. “Too late. My life was perfectly in order before you took me back to your room for a one-night stand. But I’m glad you messed it all up because that’s exactly what I needed. This part, though. This isn’t messy. Taking care of people is the good part of relationships. Right now, I’m taking care of you and Jean is taking care of me and someone else is taking care of Jessica. We all take care of one another, and that’s how the world keeps from falling apart. It all works out.”

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