“Probably want your bed back, huh?”
He shrugs and then eyes me through those thick lashes. “I gave up on that about three days ago. When you wouldn’t leave.”
I close my eyes and huff. “I can get a little clingy. I have attachment issues.”
“It’s fine.”
I lift my arms and catch a whiff of myself. “Fuck, I smell. I can’t believe you let me sleep with you like this. I need to shower.”
Whit peeks over at me but doesn’t say anything. Just sucks his lips between his teeth and fiddles with my bed.
“Go on,” I say, pushing myself upright. “I know you have things to say. You’re practically bursting at the seams.”
Whit hesitates before glancing back at me. “Just go shower, Caleb. Then come lie back down while I wash my sheets.”
I want to argue, but how can I when he took care of me for three whole fucking days. When he let me smother him night after night? Day in and day out.
I stand up and move toward the bathroom with shaky legs, stumbling only once. Whit keeps his back to me, probably not wanting to see my dick waving between my legs.
Probably saw enough of it the past few days.
“Why am I still naked?” I ask before entering the bathroom.
“You complained the fabric was too itchy. I gave up trying to clothe you after the first day.”
I stare at his back and then close the bathroom door. But I don’t lock it. Just in case I topple over and need to be rescued again.
When I’m done showering, I feel slightly better and move toward my bed, just wanting to lie down for a little longer. Damn, I’m tired. This is surprising since I slept away the past three days.
My bed is, of course, nicely made with freshly laundered sheets. The covers are turned down, so I pull on some boxers before slipping inside.
I don’t see Whit, but his bed is stripped, and new sheets are on it. I hear the shower turn on, and ten minutes later, he reappears wearing something clean, his hair brushed, his face shaven.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, shifting on his feet, his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, but I can get it when I get up. You’ve done enough.”
Whit clears his throat and adds, “I don’t mind.”
I push myself up on my elbows, the sheets falling down my chest, exposing my entire abdomen. Whit glances at it and then moves his eyes to study his desk.
“Why you being so nice, huh?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be nice?” he responds, his eyes flashing to mine and then looking away again.
“Because you dislike me.”
Whit inhales sharply. “I don’t dislike you, Caleb.”
God, I like it when he says my name. He rasps it. His voice getting all husky.
Apparently, I’m still suffering from the effects of the fever.
“Could have fooled me,” I say and then let my head fall back on the pillow and cover my eyes with my forearm.
“I’ll make you toast,” he says after a moment and then disappears into the kitchen.
Fucking, Whit. He’s so damn confusing.