by Kylie Scott
He shuffled his feet, crossed his arms. I stared off at the wall, embarrassed for some reason. Being in such close quarters was weird. Would it be rude to tell him to go back to work? It felt rude. The things he'd done for me today, he'd been kind, caring. I had no idea what he thought he'd achieve here. Guess the least I could do was not be a raging bitch. Besides, who had the energy?
I swallowed hard. "Actually, could I have the Kleenex, please?"
"Sure." He tore open the box, setting it beside me.
"You'd make a great nurse." I tried to smile. It felt wrong, wonky and weak, like the rest of me. Blergh.
An amused glance. Then more silence.
God, the spaces between words were so awkward. All difficult and embarrassing. And I was so off balance, I couldn't help but fill them up with meaningless conversation. "Ever considered going into that field, Joe? Nursing?"
With both hands, he smoothed back his golden hair, getting it out of his face. "No. This is strictly a one-off gig."
A pause. "I do about five shifts a week behind the bar and work with my dad a few days as well. He's a carpenter, trained me too. He used to build houses until his arthritis got too bad. Now we just do renovations and maintenance mostly."
"Oh."
"Nothing as fancy as part-owning a restaurant and bar like my brother."
Wow. I so wasn't going near that comment. I drank some more of my soup, then fished out chunks of vegetables and noodles with the spoon. "That's where the interest in old buildings came from, then, working with your father?"
"Yeah." He sat down in the dumb decorative chair they always have in posh hotel rooms. Made for quite the combination, Joe and peach cushions.
Man, everything hurt. I sagged further, wilting before his very eyes. Having something hot in my stomach helped, but I seriously couldn't wait for the drugs to kick in. Every inch of me ached, but my head was a total mess. Maybe I should get it removed. At least then my nose would stop running.
Steam might help me breathe. I gave the bathroom door a longing look. A bath was starting to sound nice, it just seemed so far away. Miles. States. And I smelled funky, sweaty. Must have had a fever while I slept. Just as well Joe was sticking to the other side of the room.
"You really do want that bath, don't you?"
I just looked at him, waiting for my brain to cough up something to say.
"Look, Alex, it's okay to let me help you. I'm not going to use it against you or something."
"Ha." I smiled for real. "That doesn't make me sound paranoid or anything at all."
"I've given you enough reason not to trust me. I get it." With wrinkles all around his eyes, the guy gave me a truly pained look. The whole being-the-bad-guy thing really wasn't sitting well with him.
Good. I would not feel pity for him. The man had burned me bad. Desperately, I tried to shove any empathy, sympathy, or any of the above back from whence they came. It didn't quite work. I was such a sucker. "If you wouldn't mind running me a bath that would be great. But you don't have to, you've done more than enough already."
Without another word he got up and went into the bathroom. The sound of water rushing in to fill the fancy jetted tub was music to my ears. This had been the only room they had available when I booked back into the hotel after our conversation attempt at breakfast this morning. My original basic room had been gone. Luckily, the lady on the front desk took pity on me and dropped the price some. She probably didn't want me hanging around the lobby, infecting people with my germs. Whatever the reason, she deserved sainthood and I'd be emailing the pope ASAP. The room was damn nice.
"Done." Joe rubbed his hands together. "Shit, I didn't think to buy any bubble bath. Sorry."
I smiled. "I think just this once I can live without bubbles."
His answering smile didn't fit quite right. Guess his need to please wasn't appeased. Awkward looks started up again as neither of us knew where to go from here, what happened next. I broke the standoff by blowing my nose. Such a delicate, lady-like sound. Not the least bit like a trombone on acid with added gargling noises. Seriously, the human body could be spectacularly gross.
"Speaking of renovations," he started, sitting back down. "You ever get a chance to look at those pictures I sent you?"
"Pictures?" I played dumb, picking at the stitching on the hem of my top.
"Of the upper floor of the Bird Building where Dive Bar is."
"Oh, right."
A pause.
He shrugged. "No problem if you didn't. Just thought you might have been interested."
"I was." Internally, I gave myself a good hard slap. Then another. Might as well just paint a target on my back and be done with it, rather than admitting to being interested in his life or work any further; disappointment and disaster were sure to follow. You only had to look at our recent awesome history to see that. I should just ask him to leave. Or fake my own death and then lock the door when he ran to get help.
Gaze glued to me, the man waited.
"Hand me the laptop on the table," I grumbled.
Curiosity lit his dark eyes and he did as requested, sitting beside me on the end of the bed. Big fingers brushed mine as he handed over the computer. His skin was cooler than mine. Though not unpleasantly so. Surreptitiously, I wiggled an inch or two away from him as we waited for the machine to power up.
"You have Marty the squirrel as your screensaver?" The corner of his lips curled into a smile and he nodded at my screen.
"I don't have to explain myself to you," I said, frowning. Nervous, shaking fingers stumbled across the keyboard, entering the password then bringing up the relevant file. "Sure, Marty doesn't always remember where he's left his nuts. But he's never once misled me or done me wrong."
"Hey, calm down. I was just going to say, great shot of him." He turned back to the computer. Then he stopped and gaped at the screen. "Wow, what's all this?"
"It's nothing, really," I babbled. "Actually, let's not do this."
"Wait." He leaned in closer, tilting his head, checking things out. "No. These are really something."
"It was just ... I was just messing around." I tucked my hair behind my ears, rubbed at the old scar high on my forehead. "Seriously, it's nothing. Not like I'm an architect or anything."
"Bullshit." The dude leveled me with a look. One that I neither liked nor took comfort in. "Alex, we need to show these to Andre."
"Who? The owner of the building?"
A nod.
"No, no. That would just be silly. Also, it would make me wildly uncomfortable."
He gave me another look. One I couldn't begin to read. Such a pain in the ass the way his beard covered half his face. The sharp cheekbones above provided me with no clues at all.
"I'm not being disingenuous, Joe," I said, trying to explain, searching for the right words. "I'm good at my work and I take pride in it. But that stuff was just play time. I had no real idea what I was doing, okay? It was something I thought we--well, me and Eric or whatever--could have a laugh over. Can we please leave it for now?"
For a long moment we stared at one another. Then he gave me a nod. It wasn't a happy one.
"Guess I should probably head off now," he said, brows drawn tight. Clearly reluctant to leave. "Let you grab a bath and then get back to sleep."
"Yeah..."
"Hmm."
Neither of us moved.
"Though I really should stay at least until you're out of the bath. You're on enough pain meds to put an elephant to sleep."
Oh God. I shouldn't do it. For both of our sakes, I should let him go. Except something sick and stupid stuck up its head and begged. Perhaps it was some misbegotten curiosity about the man or maybe the drugs. God, I hoped it was the drugs. At any rate, some overly vocal part of me wanted to keep him around a bit longer.
"Well, I'm kind of awake now," I blurted out before I could slap a hand over my mouth. Talk about being out of control. Shit.
He just looked at me.
"You k
now ... um." Shakespeare I was not. Fuck it, I'd said it, I'd put it out there. Now I'd just have to suck it up. "We could watch a movie after I've had a bath. If you want. But if you need to be somewhere, I under--"
"No. They're not really expecting me back at work. That'd be cool." He perked right up, pulling his cell out of his back jeans pocket and firing off a text. Then he paused, gazing at me from beneath a heavy brow. "You're sure?"
"Sure." I did not sound sure. Nor did I feel it.
The man froze.
"I mean ... so long as it's understood I'd rather never again discuss the whole, 'switched identities, you fooling me, and me feeling like a chump' thing," I said. "Okay?"
Slowly, he nodded. "Okay. We can just relax together."
"Great." We could try, at least.
*
Kill me now.
Everything was horrible. Truly deeply God-fucking awful. Lethargy dragged at my limbs, making me feel like I was sinking through the bed, down through the floor straight into hell. Yet my mind was drifting, lighter than air and completely confused. All of this with the added benefit of being covered in sweat. I felt like I'd been thrown into Mount Doom.
"Yeah. She took some about six hours ago," a deep male voice said. "Nothing before that for a good ten or twelve hours, I think."
Faintly, I could hear another voice responding.
Wearily, I blinked open my eyes. The damp cloth covering my forehead obscured my vision. A table lamp was on, showing Joe standing by my bedside.
"Okay, I'll get some more into her." He looked my way, face lined with concern. "She's awake now."
Another pause as the person on the other end of the line talked.
"Keep the liquids up. Got it. Thanks, Mom. I'll call you if she gets any worse."
"Mom?" I queried in a wavery voice.
"Dr. Google and Mom have got you covered. She's a nurse." He put down the mobile and picked up the bottle of aspirin, shaking two tablets out into his hand. "Can you sit up a little?"
I nodded, dislodging the cloth and rising up on one elbow, shaking all the while. "Yeah."
"We need to bring your temperature down." He sat beside me on the bed, lifting the glass of water. "Open your mouth."
In went the pills, followed by the water. Man, nothing had ever tasted so good. Nothing. I downed the whole glassful in a nanosecond.
He refilled the glass from a bottle of water. "Just sip it this time. We don't want you getting queasy."
I did as told. "Feel hot. Can we get this blanket off?"
"Sure."
Together, though mostly it was Joe, we pushed the blanket off onto the other side of the bed. My clothes literally stuck to me. Gross didn't cover it. And I was still burning up, hot as Hades. It felt like a small sun had taken up residence inside of me. While my feet pushed at my socks, I wrestled with removing the baggy thermal from my upper body. To get comfortable was the only thing that mattered. This man had already stated that he didn't see me that way, plus he and I had no future, so who cared what he thought of me in my underwear. Also, fuck modesty when I was feeling this sick.
"Want that off too?" Joe carefully freed me from the thermal top while I huffed and puffed. The white tank top underneath was plastered to me with sweat. Never mind. At least I could start to feel cool air on my skin.
"Socks, please," I whispered.
He got busy liberating my feet from the fluffy menaces. But it was still too much, and only achieving a modicum of comfort mattered. I stuck my thumbs into the top of my leggings and started wriggling about, trying to get them down. Someone had sucked the strength straight out of me. My arms just kind of flopped around. Noodle woman, that was me.
"Those too?" The big guy peeled my leggings off and yes. Oh, fuck yes.
"That's better." With a sigh of relief, I flopped back down. Tank top and knickers were plenty of clothing. Every part of me ached. My toes, my teeth, my freaking hair follicles. Everything.
The TV was off, along with every light in the room apart from the table lamp. It made the world look so weird, shadowy. Joe's cheekbones in particular appeared to have been carved from stone, his dark eyes glowing in the low light. It all felt like a fever dream. Reality was far, far away and sleep had started sneaking up on me once more.
"The movie finished?" I asked.
He smiled. "A while ago. You fell asleep."
"Oh."
A nod toward the couch. "Don't freak out. But I camped out over there. Just in case."
"Okay." My eyelids drifted shut. I lacked the energy to keep them open. Or to care. "Thanks."
The mattress shifted. Soft footsteps and then distantly I heard running water. He returned and placed a new damp cloth on my forehead.
"That's nice." I mumbled.
"I'm here if you need me," he said.
And that was nice too.
CHAPTER FIVE
Message sent five months ago:
Hey Eric,
So it's my turn to write and I really don't know what to say. Look, in all honesty, my life is incredibly boring. Since I'm based at home and I'm my own boss, I can work pretty much whenever it suits. Depends on how many jobs I've got going on. I can easily go up to a week only talking to the people who deliver my takeout. I've got my friends and family too, of course. But you know how busy modern life is etc. Oh, and there's Marty. He's always good company. Besides work, it's usually just me, online property sites (a girl needs her dreams), and TV together forever. Don't be mad, you had to have seen this coming. TV and the internet are just too good. There was no way you could ever compete.
Regretfully,
Alex
P.S. Hope your restaurant and life in general are doing well.
Message received:
Alex,
Damn. We haven't even actually met yet and you've chosen TV over me. That's harsh. Things are going okay here. Starting to warm up a little which is great. The Dive Bar's been busy. Can't imagine going days not having anyone around. Your bubble must be peaceful. Seems all I do is talk to people all day long. Not sure I need TV since the business isn't short on drama. One of the bartenders thinks he's Romeo. Unfortunately he has the attention span of a gnat. Makes keeping good wait staff around hard. Also our cook, Nell, is going through a divorce. She and her ex are both long-time friends of mine so it sucks to see them hurting. On particularly bad days you can hear Nell using her cleaver throughout the whole restaurant. I don't even want to think about what she's imagining chopping.
Eric
Insistent knocking on the door. Again.
"For fuck's sake."
My sentiments exactly. Only, strangely enough, I hadn't spoken. Instead, a familiar, if somewhat unexpected, masculine voice had provided the profanity. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked out the other side of the mattress. Large-male alert. Oh God, what if I'd had some strange reaction to the cold and flu tablets and sexually assaulted the poor innocent man last night? It had been a while since I'd seen any action.
"Hey," said Joe, stretched out on top of the bed. He'd shucked his boots, but otherwise, all clothing remained intact.
Thank God.
"Hi" is what I attempted to say. What came out was a cross between a whisper and a wheeze. God, my throat was on fire. Raw agony. I could have cried in pain and frustration, only it would have made my headache worse. Besides appearing pitiful, of course.
The knocking continued.
"How are you feeling,?" he asked around a yawn.
"Crappy," I whisper-wheezed, beyond caring. Fucking plague.
"Shit," he mumbled. "You lost your voice?"
I nodded.
"Damn. Least you're not burning up anymore." Slowly, he sat up, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. Then he pushed up off the bed and went to answer the door.
The actual Eric Collins barging in made for the second surprise of the morning. Unlike his brother, he wore black slacks and a pale blue button-down, topped off with a black leather jacket. His long dark
hair was tied back in a man-bun, his face freshly shaven. Besides him, Joe appeared distinctly rumpled. Resemblance-wise, you could see the shared gene pool in their high foreheads and generous lips. The slight thickness of their noses. Otherwise you'd hardly credit them with being brothers. As different as day and night.
"Morning," said Eric, dumping his load of brown paper bags on top of the chest of drawers. "Told Nell you didn't make it home last night and she made me bring over more food and stuff. Coffee's in that one."
"Thanks." Joe dove into the designated bag, pulling out two extra-large coffee cups.
"Dad phoned, wanted to know when you'd be on the job," he said. "Better check your cell and give him a call."
"Will do."
Eric turned, giving me a flirty little grin. It didn't last long, however. "Damn. You're really sick, aren't you?"
Joe's brows drew in. "I said she was."
"Yeah, just figured it was an excuse she'd made up to stay in town and make you run around jumping through hoops, doing stuff for her. Grovel. You know, make you pay penance?" He shrugged. "Bet Boyd fifty bucks too."
Without a word, Joe set down one of the cups and smacked his brother upside the head.
"Christ, man!" Eric patted his hair back into place. "Take it easy."
"Apologize to Alex before I break your fucking neck."
"Sorry, Alex," said Eric, becoming less attractive to me by the minute.
"Idiot." Dark eyes distinctly pissy, Joe turned my way. "You want coffee?"
To think I'd actually imagined Eric might be the man of my dreams. The real Eric had maturity issues, that much was certain. I shook my head and fought my way out from underneath the mountain of blankets he must have piled on me while I slept. Distantly, I could remember waking up at some stage shivering, ice cold, and demanding blankets. Otherwise, I still just had on the thin tank top and my favorite underwear. Bright yellow boy-legs with Little Miss Fucking Sunshine on the front. I only owned about five pairs of them. She was kind of my spirit animal. And to think, Joe had seen me in this glorious getup, sticky with sweat and sick as could be, and he'd still stayed and played nurse. Impressive.
I hadn't lasted through all of the movie last night, what with being on death's doorstep. Joe and I hadn't talked much. But what we did do was laugh at the same lines, exclaim over the same fight scene, and ooh at exactly the same time during the car chase. So our tastes in films were eerily similar, as if that meant anything. I just hadn't expected to feel quite so comfortable having him around. Early on, all I had noticed was how different he was from the guy I thought I knew. It was disconcerting to start grafting all the things we actually had in common onto this new hunk of manhood.