Spike snorted. “If I was going to have an affair it would be with someone much prettier.”
“Shot down! Damn. We’d make such ugly babies together too.”
“Can you be serious?”
“What’s going on?” Hack asked immediately. “You shot? Run over? Stabbed? Kidnapped?”
Spike sighed. “Why did I call you?”
“Can’t answer that, my man.”
Millie. He needed to remember Millie. “What can I do for someone with a migraine?”
“Migraine?” Hack’s voice became more businesslike. “How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad. She vomited. Can’t really talk. She’s whimpering in pain.”
“Has she taken some medication? Has she had migraine’s before?”
“Yeah, she took these.” He rattled off the name on the medication bottle. “It’s half empty.”
“Right. That’s a prescription drug. She might get these often. She’s lying down? In a dark, quiet place?”
“Yep.”
“Best thing you can do is just keep an eye on her, but don’t bother her too much. Try to keep her hydrated if you can. Although sometimes caffeine can also help. Some people react well to a cold compress or a heat pack. It all depends on the individual. Since we can’t ask her, I would just try to keep her comfortable. She’s staying with you?”
“Yep.” He knew it would kill Hack not to know more. The guy was as nosey as they came.
“Huh. That really all you’re gonna say?”
“Yep.”
“Is she a Little?”
He wasn’t sure that was Hack’s business. So he didn’t say anything.
“Say no more. I get it. If she’s experienced lots of these, she likely knows her triggers. It can be certain smells or food or stress. I’ll send you some articles. I mean, that’s assuming she’s going to be around for a while?”
Spike didn’t answer that either.
Hack sighed. “You’re no fun. I’ll send the stuff anyway. Along with my bill. Let me know if you need my help, nothing I love more than making a house call.”
Spike ended the call. Then he walked back to the bedroom to check on Millie, who appeared to be asleep.
Time to do some reading. And decide if taking care of her was something he could do . . . without developing anything more.
19
Migraine hangovers sucked.
The excruciating pain in her head was gone. Drugs and sleep had taken care of that. But her body felt like she’d been run over by a truck. Drained and exhausted.
But at least she could open her eyes and move without feeling like her head was being drilled or wanting to vomit.
So, yay her.
Glancing around, she realized she wasn’t in her bedroom. Was this Spike’s room? Why was she in here? Memories rushed back at her and she groaned. Had she really vomited in her bed? Oh no. And he’d had to take care of her. She ran her hand down her side, realizing that she was now dressed in her onesie.