Lingus

by Mariana Zapata

  "Cold."

  He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes and grunted. "I'm so weak," he moaned. "I tried calling Calum, but he won't answer, and my parents are in New York this week. Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked you to come."

  It was hard for me to believe he didn't have anyone beside his parents and Calum in his life that he could turn to. I had my three bitches, Ryan— who I could always rely on, and my dad was only a few hours away. I felt bad for him, but I also wondered why he didn't have anyone else to turn to. I figured that he'd met enough people in his life to find someone worthy enough to let in. "Don't worry about it, Mag."

  Tristan tried to give me a smile, but he was feeling so crappy it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, Kat." I saw his hands rest on the elastic of his underwear before he hooked his thumbs into it, and then began dragging the material down toward the floor.

  Oh my God.

  I didn't know whether to look at him or away, so I hissed. "What are you doing?"

  "Taking a shower," he said casually, but his eyes were playful and intense as they fixed on mine in the reflection of the mirror. It almost seemed like he was challenging me to look down. I was tempted, because it seemed like everyone else had seen him except me. He didn't wait for me and turned around to step into the shower. His perfect, globe-like ass teased me. I could still see him through the doors, and since he was taking a cold shower, there was no heat to steam up the doors to create a hazy barrier.

  "Do you, uh, have a set of clean sheets?" I stammered out, distracted by the lean figure angled away from me as it stood like a statue under the spray of water. It was almost as if he knew my inner dilemma with seeing his peen. What if I saw it and it ruined me for others?

  "In the top drawer of my dresser," he called out, weakly.

  I wanted to stay and watch him, but I knew better. He was sick, and I needed to do what I could to make him feel better. Clean sheets always did wonders for me. I knew with the temperature his fever was at, as well as with the amount of sheets and covers he'd been wrapped in, his sheets had to be soaked in sweat. I walked out of the bathroom, heading toward the big dresser parallel to his bed. There were two top drawers, so I opened up the one on the left first and froze. There were piles of extra-large and extra-extra-large condoms practically filling the entire drawer.

  Oh. My. Fuck.

  Chapter 19

  The sheets were in the other drawer.

  Somehow, I managed to correctly change the sheets in my condom-induced stupor. The water from the shower shut off a couple of minutes before, and by then I was fluffing his pillows and trying not to think about the massive amounts of condoms he had stocked in his dresser.

  Who did that?

  I didn't know if I was scared of the fact that he had so many, or if I was kind of excited by the prospect that he had to buy the plus-sized ones.

  I tried my best not to think about why he had so many condoms otherwise, I may have been tempted to put on some gloves before touching anything else in his bedroom. Hell, his entire house might have been contaminated with dried jizz and vag juices. Yuck. Maybe he bought them in mass quantities when they were on sale?

  Tristan stepped into the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his slim waist and his wet hair went in a million different directions. Despite the fact that his body was immaculate in proportions, his shoulders were slightly hunched and his face was droopy.

  Then, I thought about those Durex XXLs sitting in his drawer again, and my face broke out in a wild blush.

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking at me intently before a knowing, tired grin spread across his pale face. "You opened up the wrong drawer, didn't you?"

  I hated him.

  "Did you raid a Trojan factory and steal their yearly supply?" I sputtered out, instead of denying it.

  Tristan snickered, but it was a weary noise, and he just shook his head before turning his back to rifle through the second row of drawers. "Calum buys me at least ten boxes for my birthday and Christmas each year, because he likes the looks on people's faces when he checks out. They're for... you know, work even though I have more than enough to last me a lifetime right now."

  Wait. What?

  "You wear condoms in your scenes?" I should have been more nonchalant about asking, but I wasn't. My verbal filter needed a serious replacement because who asks that? But then again, there were men who still wore condoms in pornos? According to Zoey, STD testing had become so standardized in the industry that most men didn't wear them anymore, because the chances of catching a disease was very slim.

  I still thought it was kind of fucking gross, but whatever. Yet another reason why I was not in porn. I couldn't imagine a guy dipping his bucket into more than one well before mine.

  What I lacked in a verbal filter, Tristan lacked in modesty. His towel fell to the floor when he stepped into a clean pair of boxer briefs, and I got fifteen seconds worth of smooth butt-cheeks to appreciate. "I do. It's a stipulation in every contract I sign. It's harder to get work because of it, but I'm not willing to compromise, you know?"

  Suddenly, I gained a whole lot of respect for Tristan.

  I wanted to ask him how much work he did during the month, during the year, over the course of his career but I didn't. I knew he wasn't feeling well, and I doubted that we were at that point in our friendship where we could ask each other anything, like I could with Nikki, Zoey, and Josh. Zoey liked to send me pictures of her turds when they were "special ones," as she called it. I guessed that's part of what made our friendship special, because I laughed when I saw the pictures instead of being grossed out by it.

  "That's good, Tristan," I told him, but my face was still flushed. Those were a ton of fucking condoms and that fact was not easily forgotten. "So does that mean I don't have to rinse my hands off with bleach since I touched your bed?"

  He was facing me then, with an indescribable expression. "No, you don't need to scrub the skin off your arms either. I'm not a whore." I knew he wasn't feeling well, but I opened my mouth to make a smartass comment about his whore status when he recognized the look in my eyes and gently slapped a hand over my mouth. "My mattress is the epitome of cleanliness, Kat. Trust me."

  I snorted while his warm fingers lingered over my lips. "Fine, fine." I mumbled beneath him until he pulled them away. I caught his eyes flickering to the bed. "You should lay down and rest. I'm gonna guess that you don't have any medicine in the house or food, so I'll be back in a little bit. I'm just going to run to the drugstore and come right back."

  "Okay." He nodded, stepping around me to lie down on his bed. "You'll be back though?"

  He pulled the sheets up to his neck, leaving the comforter thrown off to the side. He looked so cute with his sad face and pouty mouth. I stepped toward him without even thinking and ran a hand through his hair to brush it off his forehead. "I will. If I'm not back in an hour, take another shower, okay?"

  "Okay," he mumbled with a drawn out sigh.

  I was out of the house and in my car heading to the grocery store I saw on my way over at almost midnight, hoping it was open late. Since I didn't exactly check his cupboards to see what he had, I figured I was better off assuming he didn't have anything sick-appropriate in the house. Luck was on my side, because the grocery store was open. I roamed the aisles looking for Gatorade, saltine crackers, bread, canned soup, tea, the generic kind of Tylenol, and two different kinds of over-the-counter flu medicine.

  It took me a little over an hour to make it back to Tristan's house and I slipped back inside. I made sure to lock the front door, toe off my shoes, and grab the Theraflu bottle, leaving the other stuff in the bags on the stairs. I sneaked into his room to find his bare back peeking out from under the covers again.

  "I'm back," I said softly, watching the muscles in his back tense up.

  "Shit, Kat. I didn't hear you come in," he said, flipping over to rest his back against the headboard. His light brown hair was all wet again, the telltale sign that he'd taken a
nother shower, and his abs looked just as nice as they had before.

  "I bought you some Theraflu," I told him, peeling off the plastic that covered the top before pouring some of the thick, red liquid into the tiny measuring cup. "Drink it."

  Tristan made a face at my outstretched offering before plucking it from my fingers. "I hate this crap." He kept the disgusted face, as he tipped the cup back and gulped down the contents. Tristan shivered once he was done and stuck his tongue out. "That's gross."

  "You're fine," I snorted and took the measuring cup away from him. "I'm going to go put up the stuff I bought for you. You don't mind if I put it away, do you?"

  He shook his head and even waved his hand a little. "Do whatever you want downstairs. Mi casa es tu casa," he said in a perfect accent.

  "I'll be back then," I told him before walking out. I took my time to look around the second floor of his house on the way downstairs. There were three other doors on the other side of the hall. A simple, metal chandelier illuminated enough to see that he only had a few things hung on the walls. I decided to maybe snoop later on when Tristan was asleep... if I was there long enough.

  I jogged down the stairs, grabbed my two bags of groceries, and took inventory of the bare walls of the staircase. There was an opening on the right side of the room, and I peeped in to see that it was a formal dining room. I turned the opposite direction, spotting a living room that opened up to his kitchen. After flicking on the nearest light switch, I made my way into the kitchen, which was all stainless steel appliances, sparkly, black granite countertops, and mahogany cabinets. It was my dream kitchen come true.

  Finding things in the spacious kitchen took some time because even though it looked like Tristan was neat, he didn't have anything organized intelligently. I finally put a pot of water to boil, so I could make him some echinacea tea like the kind my mom used to make me when I was sick. She claimed it helped make me get better faster. Years later, I learned that it was known to help boost a person's immune system.

  I headed back upstairs with a bottle of orange Gatorade under one armpit, his tea in one hand, and a packet of saltine crackers in the other hand. When I walked in, Tristan was resting with his eyes closed but opened them as soon as he heard my footsteps. I moved his stereo over on his nightstand to set the crackers and Gatorade.

  "Drink this," I told him, handing him the cup.

  He winced as he tried to sit up. He peered inside the cup but frowned at the discomfort in his body. Flu muscles pains were the worst. "What is it?"

  "Tea," I pushed the cup closer to him. "Don't be a pussy, just drink it."

  "I should be offended that you call me a pussy, but I'm not," he said softly with a tired smile on his face. He looked at the cup again before taking it from me, sniffing it, and then gagged.

  "You're the worst, you know that?" I laughed at his bullshit. "Just drink it. It's good for your immune system."

  Tristan made another face before sipping the hot liquid. "I'm really not picky, but this tastes like ass."

  I raised my eyebrow at him. "You know what ass tastes like?"

  Even though he was tired and sickly, he snickered in amusement. "No, I haven't had the pleasure of tasting ass, thank you. What I should've said is that it takes like shit," he murmured, before thinking about what he'd said and snorted. "Don't even say anything. It tastes horrible and I've definitely never tasted shit," he said, taking another drink and keeping an eye on me. "Can you stay for a little bit?"

  "Sure," I answered and went to sit on the end of the bed around the same time he started patting the empty spot next to him. The mattress was king-sized, so I nodded and climbed over to sit to where I was only a couple feet away from him.

  In the middle of a sip, he stopped and turned to look at me sharply. "I'm going to get you sick, Kat."

  "Don't worry about it, I get my flu shot every year, so if I do catch anything, it won't be too bad. My immune system blows, so I drink that gross shit," I pointed at his cup, "all the time."

  He tipped the cup back to drink the last bit and shivered again, setting the cup down on the nightstand. "Gross," he muttered, licking his lips. Tristan closed his eyes and wiggled his way down the bed to lay flat against the mattress. "I don't have a TV in here so you're going to have to tell me all of your secrets to entertain me."

  "In that case—," I started to say but laughed. "I don't have any secrets."

  "I don't either besides Robby. Just tell me about your family... or anything, I don't care. Just talking makes me feel terrible," he groaned.

  So, I told him. I told him about my dad, Frank Berger, and how he was the hardest-working electrician in Gainesville, Florida. I told him about my mom, and how she worked odd-end jobs until she died from a brain aneurysm right before her thirtieth birthday. Tristan learned about my bad haircuts, which made him laugh even though his eyes were closed. He found out about the time I went to a Marlins game with Frank and was dumb enough to wear a skirt that I ended up tucking into my underwear after a restroom break, so I practically mooned hundreds of people with my white cotton panties. He had tears in his eyes after he asked me how old I was when it happened, and I answered with a whopping sixteen. How he managed to stay awake and pay attention to me while I rambled, I don't know but he did, because he constantly laughed quietly despite the fact that his eyes were closed.

  I wiggled my way off the bed and headed over to his side to take his temperature one last time. Once the reading was over, the digital numbers showed that his fever was down to 101.8. "Can you take another cold shower?" I asked him, and he nodded, rolling out of bed sluggishly before heading toward the bathroom.

  Exhaustion hit me while I paced around his room, waiting for him to finish his shower. He was fast; in and out — dressed, undressed, and dressed again — in less than five minutes. He looked tired and half-asleep despite the freezing shower. Tristan dragged his feet across the floor, making moaning and grunting noises as he settled into bed. The noises were so distracting that later on I realized I didn't get a chance to ogle his abs, or the little trail of dark hair from his belly button down the front of his boxers.

  "Thank you for coming, Kat," he whispered, his silhouette illuminated by the side lamp.

  "Don't mention it," I said softly. My watch showed that it was passed two in the morning and more than an hour after he took the Theraflu. I let out a big yawn and rubbed at my face. "Will you be okay alone the rest of the night?"

  He opened a single eye but didn't focus it on me. Instead, he settled that piercing gaze at the ceiling. "I think so," he said, but I could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Can you come back tomorrow and make sure I'm not dead?"

  "Of course," I said. I'd stay if he'd asked me to but he didn't.

  Tristan rolled onto his side and started digging through his nightstand drawer, moving all kinds of things over before pulling out a shiny new key and holding it out for me. "Can you lock the door for me, and this way you can let yourself back in? I think my neighbor might try to sneak in and molest me if the door is unlocked all night."

  "Oh! The old guy next door?" I joked, even though I didn't see anyone outside.

  He groaned and pulled the sheet up to his neck again. "Wait until I feel better," he threatened in the worst ominous voice I'd ever heard.

  After a brush of my fingers over his forehead, I slipped his house key into my pocket, and gave him instructions to set an alarm so he could take the Theraflu again in a few hours. I was in my car and heading back home while trying to fight back the fatigue that overwhelmed me. It was so fucking hard to keep my eyes open, and I immediately regretted not asking him if I could sleep on the couch. I was so tired that I barely made it up the stairs before kicking and yanking off all of my clothes as I fell onto the bed in a tired heap. Tristan's house key lay discarded on my floor, inside of my jeans.

  Right before I fell asleep, I remembered randomly that the last guy I'd gone on a couple of dates with wouldn't even tell me the security code for the
gate to his apartment.

  Chapter 20

  Four hours after I had passed out on my bed, I woke up hearing my phone ringing and felt utterly exhausted. I should have gone back to bed and slept at least another hour or two, but my mind was already racing between the events of the previous night and wondering who the hell was calling me so early. Frustrated and annoyed, I grabbed my phone like it was the phone's fault why it was ringing at the crack of dawn and stared at the screen to see Zoey's picture from Halloween last year. She was dressed up like a member of KISS.

  "Hello?" I asked, my voice thick with sleep.

  "Katherine Alba Berger, I'm so, so sorry to call you this early, but have you talked to Nicole? I'm worried," she spilled out as quickly as possible. Zoey knew that I'd never been a morning person, whether it was back when I was a student or now that I was a real adult with a full-time job, I hated the morning time.