His Best Friend's Little Sister

by Vivian Wood

  “Where does Eli keep the thermometer, or the painkillers?”

  “I don’t know, Henry. Please, just let me sleep.” She was so tired and the fire was lulling her into a trance. Couldn’t he just let her sleep?

  “Ellie, I’m worried about you…”

  She vaguely recalled him carrying her to bed, and the comfort of his arms as he cradled her. Each step toward her room felt like he was carrying her to safety and to some slice of paradise she couldn’t come close to fathoming. The fevered dreams that followed were a confusing cocktail. There was Sean, well before he made a fool out of her, and there was Sam, coolly applying blush to her cheekbones. In a flash, Eli and Ryan were there too, but they were years younger. Ryan still had his freckles from childhood and Eli’s hair hadn’t started to thin yet. Her mother’s hands were in hyperfocus, making that from-scratch monkey bread she’d nearly forgotten about, and she could hear Jeopardy playing in the other room, her father’s only television vice. Then there was Henry, somehow as he was six years ago before the war scars had clouded his face. And he was glorious.

  9

  He was used to being a caretaker, first for Aunt Mary when the cancer came, and then in the military. He’d seen his fair share of illnesses, but there was something eerie about being barricaded in the cabin with only a handful of pills to suffice—many of them expired. When he’d put Ellie to bed, he'd had to strip off her pajamas, completely soaked with her sweat. Even then, he’d struggled to not drink in her body any more than necessary.

  Armed with his SEAL training, he was fast and adept at taking care of others. However, in Ellie’s state, as she ranged from giggling to painful moaning, it was a new experience. He opted for a quick makeshift sponge bath with baby wipes, taking care to avoid her underwear and bra, the two garments he felt best left alone even if they were drenched in sweat.

  “Ellie?” he’d asked. “Do you want help putting on pajamas? Or—”

  “No!” she’d implored suddenly. It was the most she’d communicated since they had returned to the cabin. “It’s too much work. Just… how about you cuddle with me for a—”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he’d told her. Screw it, she’d just sweat through the pajamas and right into the sheets anyway. He managed to get the sheet over her, but she immediately starting kicking away the duvet and quilt every time he pulled it over her.

  “Too hot,” she moaned, her eyes screwed shut. Even with her fiery hair plastered to her face and flushed cheeks, she still looked a wonder to him.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll be downstairs or in the room next door if you need me. And I’ll check on you through the night. Just call if you need me, okay?”

  As he walked toward her door, planning to keep it open for the night so he could hear anything, he swore she’d mumbled, “I need you.”

  It was the roughest night he’d had since the last tour—and at times nearly as petrifying. At midnight, he thought they were under attack. It wasn’t quite a PTSD episode, but close. In that lucid state between being awake and dreaming, a howling stirred him upright in bed. “Ellie?” he called.

  The violent howls started up again, and he flew into her room just in time to see her vomit yesterday’s hot chocolate on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I couldn’t get to the bathroom fast enough.”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, stripping the soiled sheet off her. “Here, let’s take you to another bedroom,” he said. At first he’d tried to help her up, lifting her elbows, but she was too weak to move. Finally, he hoisted her up to cradle her, carrying her with ease down the hallway and into a smaller bedroom.

  “I—I think I’m gonna be sick again,” she said before he could even set her on the bed. This time, they made it to the bathroom early enough. He held her hair back in a loose ponytail until all that came out was a weak choking sound.

  “This is so embarrassing,” she said, still bent over with her elbows resting on the seat. Even like this, in nothing but yesterday’s underwear, he couldn’t stop from noticing her shape, admiring the curves of her belly and the swell of her thighs.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said.

  “It’s like the song,” she said lowly, spitting into the toilet.

  “The song?”

  “You know,” she said. Somewhere, far back and deep down, a part of him did.

  Her fever raged throughout the night and into the next day. “Ellie?” he asked at dawn, leaning into her new room. “Are you up for some breakfast? Maybe some broth or tea?”

  “Uh,” she muttered from under the sheet. Standing over her, he placed the back of his hand on her head, then her cheeks.

  “You’re really burning up,” he said.

  “Smell.”

  “What?”

  “You. Smell.”

  He sniffed his hand. The strong scent of pine from scrubbing her former bedroom floor covered his hand. “Sorry.”

  “Like a forest.”

  “Yeah, well. I think that’s what they were going for,” he said.

  “You should ask Mom.”

  “Your mom? Helena? Ask her what?”

  “You know,” she said, getting irritated and rolling over.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Dammit, Ryan, you’re pissing me off. Go ’way.”

  By noon, she wasn’t getting any better, and he still hadn’t got any fluids into her. “Ellie? You up for some food yet? At least some water.” He’d fished a cycling bottle out of the kitchen cupboard and filled it with bottled water and a pack of Emergen-C. It was probably too late to do much good, but it couldn’t hurt.

  “Henry,” she said, eyes still closed.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’m here.”

  “When does Henry come back?”

  “It’s me. I’m here,” he said, placing the bottle on the bedside table.

  “You shoulda told me, Eli,” she said.

  “Uh… told you what?” he asked. Maybe if he pretended to be whoever she was talking to, this would make some sense.

  “Forget it.”

  “Ellie, I’m sorry, but you have to at least drink something. You’re probably severely dehydrated by now.”

  “Not now, Sam. I’ll meet you there.”

  This was ridiculous. He picked her up with ease, wrapping her in the sheet. The heat radiating from every inch of her was nearly unbearable even for him. “Christ, you’re still burning up.”

  “Henry never went on spring break.”

  “I’m taking you outside. We have to at least try to break this fever.”

  He was used to carrying people—in battle, in Basic, and of course during the worst days with Aunt Mary. But Ellie was lighter than them all. Like her bones were hollow—like a bird’s.

  He’d already brushed the snow off the Adirondack chairs and cleared a small pathway on the deck. Using decorative pillows from the storage closet as cushions, he gingerly set her in one of the chairs.

  Finally, she opened her eyes, semi-lucid, and laughed. “It’s cold!”

  “Good! It’s the first time you’ve been cold since yesterday.”

  “I’mma tell you something,” she said, leaning forward and letting the sheet fall away from her chest. “Oops.”

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked. He couldn’t tell anymore if she was really here or not.

  Ellie rolled her eyes. “’Course,” she grumbled, pulling the sheet back over her bra, though not before he could catch a new glimpse of how well she filled it out. “Ya know, I always thought you were hot. Always,” she said, giving a little snort. “What I didn’t know was that you’re so damaged, too.”

  He bristled at that. Damaged?

  Ellie giggled, “I’ve thought about being in your arms before… in your bed… guess it finally came true!”

  “You remember last night?” he asked. Was she faking it?

  She shrugged. “Kinda. Bits and pieces. I’m tired.”

  “You’re not still cold?
” he asked. He was freezing, and he was in flannels and a jacket. All she had was the sheet.

  “Not cold…” she said, slumping down into the chair and trying to curl up.

  “Come on,” he said. “Back to bed for you.”

  “No…”

  “I’ll just have to carry you again then,” he said, scooping her up. By now, he knew the terrain, exactly where to touch and lift—how perfectly her ass slid down his arms to rest in the crook of his elbows.

  It was a miracle he made it to the top of the staircase landing.

  “Put me down,” she began chanting halfway up the stairs.

  “We’re almost there! I’ll put you down when we’re on solid ground.”

  “No, now,” she said. “I wanna show you something…”

  In his arms, she hooked her finger into her underwear and tried to slide them off.

  “Ellie, stop! You’re going to make both of us fall.” Even so, he couldn’t help but glance down and get a glimpse of the small strip of auburn hair she'd exposed. A landing strip, they call it.

  “You’re making this way too hard,” she said. “Put me down so I can do this proper.” At the top of the stairs, he had no choice, she was wiggling so much. “Thank you,” she said, her underwear still just pulled down an inch, just barely covering what had to be her clit and the start of her folds. “Here, I wanna show you…”

  She began reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra, but in her state, it was an impossible task.

  “Ellie…” he began, moving toward her even as she backed into the first bedroom on the floor. His bedroom. Seeing her eyes gazing up at him through her thick lashes, her chin tucked coquettishly as she tried to release her breasts, he felt himself grow hard. But this time, he didn’t have jeans to help him hide. All he was wearing was soft flannel pajama bottoms.

  “Oh, you wanna help?” she asked. “Too hard right now—”

  “I’m not going to help you with—”

  “Wait, I know something else that’s too hard right now!” she said. With just one step she was pressed against him, tilting her chin up for a kiss. Without any heels, the closest she could get without his complying was his neck. When she pressed her lips into the hollow, there was an explosion of heat like he’d never felt before. He closed his eyes instinctively, felt her reach a hand down to his cock. “C’mon,” she whispered. “Please? I’m good. I want you to be my first…”

  “Wait, what?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders and holding her back at arm’s length. Ellie just laughed, throwing her head back.

  “What?” she asked. “I was saving myself! Okay? Not a big deal, and I’m ready now. I want you to be my first.” She cocked her head to the side, giving him those doe eyes that almost made him want to give her anything she asked for. Almost.

  But those words. Those words rang in his head. Her first. It wasn’t like he’d never been with a virgin before, but that was different. That had been years ago, when he was a teenager. And none of those girls were Eli’s sister. None of them were Ellie. Not even close.

  “Ellie,” he said. “Maybe… let’s just talk about this another time. You’re sick, we’re both tired, and there’s just too much going on.” He didn’t want to upset her. There was no telling how she would act.

  “Oh my God, fine, Henry. Fine. Okay?” Henry. Well, at least she knew who he was.

  “Here, just—you can sleep here tonight. Okay?” He settled her on the bed, wrapping her in the fur blanket to calm her down.

  “So soft…” she whispered as he encouraged her to lie down. “Stay with me?” she asked. “Just for a little while.”

  He knew it was a bad idea, but he was exhausted, too.

  “Will you hold me?” she asked. “Please, Henry. Doesn’t have to be anything else. Just… hold me, please.”

  What was the worst that could happen? He pulled her close, taking in her scent as she nuzzled into his chest. He couldn’t tell who fell asleep first, but blackness enveloped the entire room.

  Awaking at early dawn, neither of them had shifted at all in their sleep, but one thing had changed. Her forehead felt cool against his chest and neck. The fever had broken. Henry sighed in relief. Still, he couldn’t help but dwell on her declarations, her pleas, and her confessions from the night before. Watching her sleep, he couldn’t fathom it. Was it all true? Was she really a virgin?

  And who was she saving herself for?

  10

  Waking slowly, with a pounding headache, the first thing she saw was Henry asleep in the chair by the window. Where was she? It all came back to her—at least the bits when she wasn’t in a fever-riddled craze. It was like remembering a drinking blackout from the night before, complete with little shots of her most embarrassing moments.

  The stripping attempt. Her begging him to take her virginity. Oh my God, and the vomiting. She turned her head to the side, sniffing her hair. There were still faint traces of getting sick the first time, before Henry had to hold her hair back like she was some kind of teenager in the bathroom.

  Shifting under the covers, his covers, she slid her hand along her hip, her stomach, all the way up to her breasts. She was still just in her bra and underwear, both slightly stiff from what had to be hours of sweating. She could only imagine how horrific she must smell.

  Glancing at the open doorway, she couldn’t decide whether to make a run for the shower or not. Would Henry wake up? How many times was he going to see her in underwear or, worse, nothing at all?

  Still, even with dehydration at play, she couldn’t fight the urge to relieve herself much longer. Wrapping herself in Henry’s sheet, she slipped as quietly as possible off of the bed. He rustled in his sleep, but didn’t wake. He must be exhausted, she thought. This was just what he needed, a getaway from his stressful job just to take care of her.

  On the balls of her feet, she tiptoed out of the room and into the common bathroom down the hall. One look in the mirror confirmed that she'd definitely had the flu from hell. Bloodshot eyes, puffy cheeks, and tangled knots of greasy hair fell flat against her pallid skin. Well, there was no point in being more embarrassed now. If Henry turned her down when she was literally begging him to fuck her, she had nothing else to lose. God, how mortifying!

  All she could do now was clean herself up, get semipresentable, and hope she didn’t make an even bigger ass out of herself than she thought. Still on her toes, she made her way to her room. What? Why is the bed stripped? Then she remembered. She hadn't just thrown up in the bathroom—it was in here, too. And Henry must have cleaned it all up. She really was a child, and one that couldn’t even take care of herself.

  In her now former bedroom, she dropped the sheet in the en suite bathroom and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Brushing the knots out of her hair, she took herself in before the full-length mirror. Her pale blue underwear with the flower print was stretched at the seams. Probably from my disaster of a striptease. The nude bra, the only one she could wear under white shirts, suddenly looked matronly. Couldn’t you have even bothered to wear matching undergarments? Maybe she should have brought the lingerie she’d bought to surprise Sean. It seemed that purchase wasn’t going to get any action ever.

  “Dammit, Ellie,” she told her reflection.

  Under the rainfall showerhead, she willed the previous twenty-four hours to disappear. Was it really that bad? There was no way she could save how Henry saw her now. But she could at least try.

  After lathering her hair and coiling it up with conditioner, she grabbed a fresh bar of soap and started scrubbing away layers of embarrassment. With freshly shaved legs, a cleaned up bikini line, and a cold rinse on her hair, she felt almost back to normal. Almost.

  Stepping out of the shower and into a fluffy towel, Ellie realized she was famished. Her stomach growled, insisting on food. When was the last time she ate, anyway? The thought of making anything, even popping a pastry into the toaster, sounded impossible. She'd used up all her energy in the shower. Ellie had wan
ted to make the effort of blowing out her hair and swiping on a little makeup, but wash and go would have to do.

  Digging through the dresser, she pulled out a white knit sweater dress and leggings. Something comfortable, yet feminine. Maybe it would help Henry see her as pretty again. If he ever really had.

  In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of water. “Thirsty?”

  Henry was right behind her, and looking like he just got back from battle. “Jesus, Henry,” she said. “You scared me. What’s wrong with you? Did I get you ill? You look terrible.”

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling out a chair and pointing at it. “Sit.”

  “I was just going to—”

  “I said sit.” Something in his voice commanded her to obey. Without another word, he flicked on the gas stove, pulled out a cast iron pan, and started making breakfast.

  In no time he'd prepared a fluffy omelet, thickened with pancake batter and whipped light as air. Ellie started to salivate while it was still in the pan. Henry chopped up a local cut of ham, along with peppers and tomatoes to fold into the dish. He pulled chilled melon from the fridge and fresh-squeezed orange juice in a glass bottle.

  “Eat,” he said, sitting down across from her with his own plate.

  “This looks amazing,” she said, picking up the fork balanced on the plate’s edge.

  “You should try tasting it,” he said, digging into his own breakfast.

  “So, uh, thanks. For taking care of me, I mean,” she told him between mouthfuls. Her taste buds were alive with the flavors. It was, quite possibly, the best omelet she’d ever had.

  Henry set down his fork and looked at her. “Do you remember anything?”

  She paused, deciding how much to reveal. Finally, she shook her head and tucked back into her breakfast.

  “You should take it easy for today,” Henry told her after he finished the dishes.

  “Oh, I intend to,” she said, easing into the couch.

  “Do you need anything?”

  She shook her head. “Actually, can you put in a movie?”