Page 47 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

She had given me a pass. I didn’t want a fucking pass.

Damn Kate and her soup.

But not the ice cream. I could never damn ice cream.

Feeling mildly disgruntled, and more than a little clogged with snot, I took another Epsom salt bath, swallowed a dose of anti-inflammatory cold medicine—another gift from Kate, left on the kitchen counter by the sink, where I would easily see it—and went back to bed.

Nine hours later, I awoke feeling much better. The baths and antibiotics and sleep had all done their jobs, and I couldn’t discount the placebo magic of Kate’s chicken soup. There was something about being taken care of, rather than taking care of myself, that made everything work faster. Tomorrow, I would be well enough to return to work. Hell, I was ready today, but an extra day of rest would ensure I didn’t relapse.

My phone buzzed with a text from Kate. Heading your way. Anything I can bring you?

I paused, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should tell her I was much better, she didn’t need to come, and she definitely didn’t need to bring me anything. Between her store, her daughter, and her volunteer work at the school, Kate was a busy woman. The last thing she should do was waste her time on me.

But I didn’t tell her any of that, because there was one thing I needed, and she was the only person who could provide it.

You, I thought for the second time in twenty-four hours. I need you.

The sinus infection had broken my brain and I didn’t even care.

I ignored her question, which I only felt slightly guilty for, knowing that she would come anyway, because I couldn’t tell her the truth. But anything other than that three-letter word would be a lie.

The door’s unlocked, I typed back and left it at that.

I took a quick shower, rinsing off the invisible vestiges of illness, and pulled on a clean pair of pajama pants. I didn’t bother with a shirt; the radiator was cranked up enough to keep me toasty warm. Anyway, Kate enjoyed me shirtless, and I enjoyed that she enjoyed me like that. A lot.

I waited for her in the bedroom. Not the living room, which would have made more sense. In the back of my mind, I knew that every choice I made was purposefully done. I knew exactly what I hoped it would lead to.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I didn’t answer, didn’t move from the bed. A moment later, the door opened, and I heard her footsteps in the living room, then moving down the hallway. My heart beat harder with every step closer. By the time she finally appeared in the doorway to my bedroom, my whole body was thrumming with it, as though I had been waiting hours instead of seconds.

“Hey.” She leaned against the doorframe. Her gaze licked down my body, and a faint flush appeared on her cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Better.”

“Good,” she echoed. “That’s…good.”

I shifted against the pillows, flexing my abs, making the muscles pop and was rewarded when she licked her bottom lip. “It’s not polite to stare, Kate.”

She flushed guiltily but met my eyes with a defiant toss of her honeyed hair. “It’s not polite to tease a girl with something she can’t have, Max.”

The words burned me. Kate should have everything. I wasn’t the man who could give that to her. Not yet. Not everything. But this…this I could do. That she wanted me in any way at all was a damn gift—and not one I was going to pass up.

“Come here,” I ordered gruffly.

When she was within reach, I caught hold of her, wrapping an arm around her waist and bringing her down onto the bed with me.

“Max!” she protested, laughing. But she surrendered immediately, toeing off her shoes and adjusting her body so we lay side by side, facing each other.

“I hope you get sick,” I said, half seriously. “So I can bring you ice cream.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if that’s sweet or borderline sociopath.”

“Okay, I don’t really want you to get sick. I just… You took care of me.” I crowded into her space, needing closeness. I could feel the emotions tripping over my tongue, not quite becoming the right words.

Maybe my body could express things better. Maybe my body could tell her how badly I needed to make this right. “I want to take care of you. I need to practice.”

Her body responded. She wiggled closer, hips canting toward mine. Her hands went to my shoulders, then drifted downward to my biceps.

She tilted her head back to look me in the eyes. “We talked about this already. You know how to care about people, Max. Your whole job is to care. You don’t need to practice something you’re already damn good at.”

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