“I think you need bigger towels,” I say.
His cheeks are bright red as I watch him in the mirror.
“Agreed.”
He clears his throat and takes my hand, ensuring my fingers have grasped the towel before he steps away.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him. “I think I’m sick.”
Whit’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, and those long fingers press against my forehead and then move to my cheek.
“You’re burning up.”
“Told you. I never throw up from drinking. It’s a superpower.”
He arches an eyebrow at me and then grabs another towel from under the sink and reaches up and dries my hair.
He’s slightly taller than me, so he reaches it easily.
And damn, it feels good.
When he moves to my chest, rubbing the droplets that escaped my hair, I let my eyes flutter closed.
I let myself be taken care of for just a moment.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says after a few moments.
“I don’t have any extra sheets. Never got around to buying more.”
“You can use some of mine,” he says, and when I step into the bedroom, I notice that my bed has been made with those fancy, silky sheets he uses.
This guy is from serious money. Who has silk sheets? Mine are from the discount rack at Wal-Mart. Very scratchy.
Once again, he folds the covers on my bed back for me, and I drop my towel and slide inside. Naked as the day I was born.
“Smells like you,” I mutter, turning my head into the pillow. I inhale deeply and crush my face into it. I can’t get enough.
He gently tucks me in this time and then leaves for a moment before returning with a glass of water and Tylenol.
“Here. Take this.”
I grasp the cup with a shaky hand, and he helps me pop the pills into my mouth. His thumb brushes my lips, and they positively burn from the contact. I blame the fever. I’m delusional and apparently gay when I’m sick.
Never happened before, but I guess I’ve developed a condition.
“Swallow,” Whit says when I’ve made no move to do so.
I force myself to do as he says and then lean back with an exhale.
“I’ll make this up to you,” I tell him, and he smooths the wet hair from my forehead.
It’s such a tender gesture that I find my eyes watering.
I blink back the tears because I cannot cry in front of Whit.
He’ll see it as a weakness. Bring it up for years to come.
Probably not years. We won’t know each other after he kicks me out. We’ll both go out of our way to avoid each other.