I don’t argue, just cast him a grateful look. “You’re something else, LaTorre,” I mutter, snuggling deeper in the covers.
He settles next to me, staring up at the ceiling. “I figured out which musical we are.”
“You did?” I laugh, loving that he actually knows musicals and can use them as metaphors.
“Grease. I’m John Travolta, and you’re Olivia Newton-John, God rest her soul.” He rolls over and looks at me. “You’re just sampling a littlebad-boyaction with me, aren’t you?”
My mouth goes dry, and I sit back up to sip on the tea again, stalling an answer.
“I’m not the guy you settle down with. Not the safe guy you’d love, but the dangerous one who makes your pulse race.”
I turn sweaty and clammy, and it’s not just the fever. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t. He’s dead on.
He rolls to his back again, staring at the ceiling. “You are something different to me, too. I knew, I knew right away I wanted you—for keeps. There are things you know in your head, and there are things you know from your gut. I knew in my gut you belonged to me.”
The words “you belonged to me” should offend me, but they don’t. The idea of belonging to Joey has grown on me. In fact, if it means being cared for this way, I just might be all in.
“I think my gut knows something about you, but my head won’t let me hear it,” I whisper the confession.
He leans up on an elbow and strokes my cheek. “Then give it time, babygirl. Don’t write us off until you’re sure of the message, okay?”
My eyes burn, and I nod, rolling against his hard body, snuggling in for a cuddle. I fall asleep to his hand stroking lazily up and down my back.
Joey
Sophie’s definitely sick. She crashes and sleeps for three hours. I should get over to Swank and check on things, but I’m reluctant to leave her.
Not that I think she’s deathly ill or anything.
But it doesn’t matter.
She’s not feeling good, and I want to be nearby. I want to take care of her.
Eventually, I hear her up and around, using the toilet, then stumbling out of the bedroom.
She shrieks when she finds me sitting on the couch in the living room texting Al.
“Shh, it’s just me.” I get up.
“Oh hey.” She rubs her face. “Have you been here this whole time? How long was I out?”
“A few hours. How are you feeling?”
“I’m still barfy. Joey?”
“What do you need,bella?”
Her eyes round with worry, which makes me want to smash whatever it is that’s bothering her to smithereens. “I think…could you go back to the drug store?”
“Of course. What can I get you, doll?”
She swallows. “A pregnancy test.”
My heart stops. Then double-pumps. “Oh. Oh wow.”
Her face is pale. “Yeah, I just thought of it. I’m a few days late, and the queasiness…it’s probably nothing, but just to be sure?”
“Yeah, of course. Yeah, I’m headed out right now.”