“I’ll make my schedule clear as I’m sure will the others. You know if you’d allow me to buy you a place in the city, it would make life a shit ton easier.” No matter what Ezra and I do, she won’t give up the small place we all grew up in. We wanted her close, but Mom pushed back and told us this was the place that held great memories, not allowing any of the negative to hold her in a dark place.
“Not happening. Maybe if you boys would find good women, settle down, give me a grandchild or two, then I’d be more apt to move. As it is, if I were to move, I’d still only see you once a week, if that. No thanks. I’ll stay where I have friends around me and where my work is.” Another thing about my stubborn mom, she doesn’t have to work. The house is paid off, her car is, too, insurance and phone are in my name. Ezra handles the utilities, yet still, she works part-time at the church daycare. You’d think she got enough of kids that way.
“We’ll table this subject again. Can you send me the recipe, or a picture of it? It won’t be long until I’m at the grocery store. Also what she’ll need in regards to drinks and medicine. I don’t know the symptoms, minus a fever and her teeth chattering.” Pain reliever will help, of course, plus fluids to keep her hydrated. After that, I have no idea.
“I’m getting the recipe book out now. I’ll add on what she’ll probably want or need.” I guess not getting sick is a blessing and a curse. I’m thankful because I never missed a day from school or now work, but also pissed because if I had any inkling, I’d know exactly what I’d need, keep it on hand, and cut out the time it takes to stop at the store and then have to fuck with a parking spot near Nessa’s place.
“Thanks, Mom. Love you, and whatever day you come into the city, pack a bag. Spend a couple of days. It’s been a while,” I offer, hoping she’ll take me up on it.
“You’re welcome. Let me look at my schedule, but that should be manageable. The message is sending. Love you, son. The next time I have to hear about any important news from Ezra, you’ll catch my wrath.” Clearly, the rounds we went this morning weren’t enough to knock some common sense into his head. I wonder how he’d feel if I brought up a certain woman named Millie to Mom like he brought Vanessa up to her.
“Will do. Talk soon.” I hit the end button right as I’m reaching the grocery store that’s close to Nessa’s house, thank fucking God.
TEN
Nessa
The door opens and shuts,right along with my eyes. I think I’m hearing things. Does this flu or cold thing that’s going through my body have me hallucinating.
“Son of a bitch,” I hear a male voice grunt and something being bumped. That has me sitting straight up in my bed, body protesting as a shiver works its way through me. The sheet and comforter are more than likely soaked through from the fever that keeps coming and going. Though I’m completely and totally screwed. My genius idea to sleep naked is flopping right about now. There isn’t even a robe, a shirt, or a spare blanket. Which leaves me with taking the sheet and comforter with me as I pat my hand on the bed, looking for my phone before I stand up. The tissues in my nose to stop the draining once I lay down are a whole other look that no one should be privy to. I reluctantly take them out since I’m not going to be in bed. There are still noises coming from the kitchen, like banging around, the open and closing of a cabinet. My hand finds my phone, clenching it tightly while I wiggle out of my bed, taking the deep rich-tone fabric with me, sheets that were an absolute splurge but worth it to the say the least. The comforter is crushed velvet in an apricot color, the perfect weight whether it’s summer or winter. Really, when decorating my apartment, I chose to live in it before going gung-ho, only buying the necessities, then putting my stamp on it a little at a time.
“Where does she hide her cups in this place?” I know that voice. It’s been in my head way too much recently, making me realize it wasn’t a dream that he called me, where I told him I was sick and Parker demanded my code for the door. Now that I know who’s in my house, relief washes over me. It doesn’t stop me from walking down the small hall in nothing beneath my sheets that I have wrapped around my naked body. I’m going to blame the fever, my nose being plugged up, body kicking my ass. Technical turns for a nurse, I know.
“Parker, what are you doing?” Crap. Now my throat is hurting, as if razor blades are scraping me from the inside out. I could seriously kick Millie’s ass right about now.
“I told you I was coming over. Why are you out of bed?” I stumble back a step. The man who had no problem shutting me down, who said he’d come over, although I vaguely remember him asking or telling me that he was, is standing in my kitchen. Canvas bags are covering my counters. That isn’t the only thing that has me confused. It’s like Parker has two very different sides to him. The man I saw at the gala is completely different to the man who stands before me. Gone is the nearly ten-thousand-dollar suit, there’s no tie around his throat, and what I’m sure were designer shoes last night are not on his feet today. He looks, dare I say, normal.
“I asked you first.” God, talking is going to be out of the question today, as well as work. I’m due to be on shift later tonight, and there’s no way I’d ever attempt or contemplate dragging my ass in there for one reason alone—the kids. I work at the same hospital our charity is associated with, so it was imperative that we made as much as we could to help families in need.
“And I’ll tell you as soon as your ass is back in bed. Jesus, woman.” Parker, who was making a ruckus a few moments ago, now has a box in his hand, glasses perched on his nose. The fabric of a basic cotton shirt is stretched over his broad chest, he’s wearing gray sweatpants, his ankles are crossed, and he’s leaning against my counter without a care in the world.
“I’d argue this case more, but I feel like my throat has tiny gremlins scratching their way out.” I keep my voice low, barely above a whisper, trying to see if that gets rid of some of the pain. Too bad it doesn’t.
“Fuck, you’re worse than you let on. I’ll help you back to bed then get your medicine ready.” There’s only one problem. If he helps me into bed, Parker will realize I’m naked and, well, that would be hard to explain.
“I don’t need help. I’ll just take a shower, change the sheets, and go back to sleep. Thank you for bringing everything over, but you really should leave. No one should feel this way willingly.” He tosses the box on the counter, the box of what I can tell is medicine, and prowls towards me, glasses coming off, the arm of the glasses hung in the collar of his shirt. I should back up, turn around, and run for my bedroom, an impossible task with the gobs of extra fabric surrounding me.
“Vanessa.” He makes it to me in a handful of steps, less than my own would take with his long legs. A man on a mission is the only way to describe him. My head tips back the closer her gets, and my breathing gets choppier, though that could be from being sick. At least there’s an excuse, even if I’m squeezing my thighs together, core clenching, and my nipples… Jesus, could they please not choose this very moment to make an appearance? “I’m staying. I don’t get sick, and no way am I leaving you when you’re barely lucid enough to remember talking to me on the phone.” I furrow my eyebrows wondering how he knows. “Babe, you wouldn’t be wearing your bedsheets as clothes if you knew I was coming. Go do what you need to do. I’ll work on your bed sheets, then the soup. Once you get out, I’ll have your medicine and lemon lime soda ready for you. They were out of ginger ale as well as a few other things. Seems half the damn city must be sick.” I blink as unwanted tears are making a presence.
“Thank you,” I croak out. Parker chooses that moment to cup my cheek. This man in front of me is not the man from last night. He’s softer, sweeter, and I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t giving me emotional whiplash.
“No problem. Now go.” He drops his hand to my shoulder, the other meeting the other side of my neck, spins me around, and swats my butt. Too bad I could barely feel the pat. I’m not telling Parker that, not yet at least.
ELEVEN
Parker
I watchedas Vanessa left me, a trail of bedding in her wake, only turning away once she was in the bathroom, the door closed with her inside. The fact that my cock decides to rear its head at the worst of times isn’t helping matters. Thankfully, with Nessa in the shower, it’ll give me time to do what I told her I was going to as well as calm myself down. That theory went out the window when I heard the water kick on, wanting to know what she looked like dripping wet, and not from the shower. I got a hint of her essence last night, the moment we met. It was like her body was singing a song only for me.
“Get it together. She’s fucking sick.” I readjust myself. I’m wearing the wrong pants to keep things hidden. The last thing I want is for Nessa to think I’m some teenager trapped in a man’s body who can’t control himself. The chicken noodle soup will not be as good as my moms, since I’m cheating with the ingredients because most things were out of stock. I got the precut onions, carrots, celery, and garlic, then it was to the meat aisle. There wasn’t shit. Literally, it’s like all of New York decided they were going to make every soup imaginable. I detoured, grabbed a rotisserie chicken, then the last ingredient—bouillion. Another call to my mother was necessary, since I had to deviate from her original recipe. There was liquid broth, bouillon cubes, bouillon powder, and then some kind of gel-like consistency that was more concentrated. If there’s ever a next time, I think I’ll send a car for my mother to come into the city, make as many batches as possible, and have it just in case. I fill a pot with water, add the vegetables to it, then set the stove to medium heat. Now it’s time to get Vanessa’s bed remade. I forgot to ask where her spares are, which means snooping will be required. I should have asked. Maybe I’ll wait to finish the job until she’s out of the shower. For the time being, I can at least strip the bed. My pockets are full of my keys, phone, and wallet. I discard them on the counter, so they don’t fall out in Vanessa’s bedroom.
“Mom, I’m okay. I was letting you know that I’m calling out of work,” I hear Vanessa talking on the phone as I’m heading into her bedroom. Apparently, she didn’t take a long shower, thank fuck. My cock and I are definitely appreciative of that. I take the pillowcases off the pillows, a damn ton of them. I must have counted six, and none of them are decorative like most women have, my mother included. The others could very well be hidden in a closet or something for all I know. “Running a fever, sore throat, chills, body aches. I’m sure it's the flu and it’ll have to run its course. I hope Millie is feeling better at least.”
It seems two of the four of us have our eyes set on someone. The only difference is, Ezra isn’t giving information willingly, and payback is going to be a bitch once I figure everything out. Two can play that game; calling Mom and gossiping before the sun was even up.
“Parker’s here, adamant about making sure I’m okay. I’ll tell you more later.” There’s a pause. I smile as I continue my task. “I’m fine. He’s a nice guy, and hopefully, no one else gets this crap. Now, I’m getting off the phone. My throat is killing me, and my fever is coming back.” I hurry along, grabbing the used tissues I found littered on her bed, knowing if she sees them in my hands, she’ll be embarrassed, and that’s the last thing she needs. The pile that needs to be washed is by the door, a task I’ll deal with once she’s back in bed.
I walk back into the kitchen. The small apartment is the perfect size for someone who is single. The only reason I keep my barely decorated brownstone, the ridiculous square footage, is for investment purposes. The only reason I’ll stay is if the housing market drops, but even then, I could rent it and triple my money back in no time. It doesn’t take me long to dump the trash in the bin, having figured out where everything was when I first came in. Then I’m washing my hands and checking the pot on the stove, if the vegetables are done enough, before shredding the cooked rotisserie chicken, along with the noodles.