With a groan, he sank on the bed, rubbing at his neck. “Neither. And that’s saying a lot that I’m turning down an offer of a sponge bath from you. Even if you were wearing a naughty nurse’s costume.”
“Is your neck stiff?”
“No, but I’m achy. It’s a flu.”
“I’m the med student here, not you.” Crawling onto the bed from my side, I sat beside him. “Any pain in your stomach or abdomen?” I pressed his shoulder so that he was lying flat on the bed.
“Well, you’re starting to become a bit of a pain.”
Reaching over, I began to lightly palpitate his stomach and abdomen. I hit upon a swollen spot, and he let out a slight grunt.
“Your voice sounds weird. Do you have a sore throat?”
“Sore throat, head ache, body aches, the whole package— Ow.” He jerked away when I reached up to check the glands in his neck.
“Hmm. Tender.”
“Tender? That fucking hurt.”
“I barely touched you. Your glands feel like golf balls. You’ve been vaccinated for parotitis?”
“Paro-what-is?” he said, sounding exhausted again.
“Mumps,” I answered.
“Yeah, I had all the shots when I was a kid.”
“Then it’s probably mononucleosis.” I pulled the sheet over him. “But that can’t be diagnosed without a blood test.”
He slumped against his pillow. “I’m gonna take a nap.”
I bent down and kissed his hot cheek. “I’m sticking this thing back in your ear in twenty minutes. Fair warning.”
He mumbled something incomprehensible in reply, already half-asleep.
When I rechecked, his temp had dropped a full degree. With relief, I set the alarm on my phone for three and a half hours, when he could have more medicine. I needn’t have bothered. I stayed awake to make sure he was covered whenever he started shivering, but was uncovered whenever he seemed hot. Instead of sleeping, I sat and read a textbook on my tablet, keeping a watchful eye on my not-so-patient patient.
In the morning, he only felt worse, and yet—insanely, but unsurprisingly—he wanted to go to work. I threatened to bar the door with my entire body or attach myself physically to his right leg so he’d have to drag me along. And in his state, he wouldn’t have been able to put up a fight even if he tried.
What really clued me in that he was feeling crappy, though, was that he didn’t argue when I challenged him.
It did take me a few days to get him to go to the doctor, however. And each day, he got grumpier and grumpier, but also sicker and sicker.
After my one and only class of the day, I came home late morning, went into his closet, and pulled out some clothes. At his bedside, I stood over him with his clothing choice. He appeared only semi-conscious, with three days’ growth of beard and an ashen complexion.
“C’mon, sicko. Time to get dressed.”
He brightened, sitting up. “I do feel better today. I think I might go in for a few hours.” He sat up and put a hand to his head.
“Head still hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“And your temp is still high despite popping pills like crazy. Keeping any food down?”
“Ugh.” He blinked and pushed his legs over the side of the bed. Figured that the promise of work would have him fighting being half dead in order to get his ass out of bed. Too bad for him we wouldn’t be going to work. I wasn’t going to break that news to him until he was dressed and ready to go.
“So no food at all? You’re drinking the water I leave by the bed, though, so that’s good.”
He grimaced. “It makes me have to get up and pee all the time.”
“You need your fluids.”
He stood up, fastening his khakis. “If I wasn’t feeling like I’d been dropped off a five-story building, your Dom-doctor routine would be making me so hot right now.”
“You like playing doctor?” I wrapped my arms around his waist. “How about a really mind-blowing BJ when you feel better?”
He paused. “A BJ for getting better? Wow, I like this hospital already.”
I smiled. “Good, because you’re going there. Right now.”
He froze. “I’m going to work.”
“The fuck you are.” I put my hands on my hips, standing in front of him. “Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Do you want your employees to scream and run in terror when they see you coming? Zombie boss. Rise of the undead CEO?”
He blinked, appearing to have to think about it, as if he wasn’t quite capable of complex thought in his state.
“You’re going to the doctor, Adam.”
“But you’re a doctor.”
I shook my head. “Not quite yet. I’m going to take you over to the medical center at the school.”
“You can’t abduct me and take me where I don’t want to go. We’re not married yet.”
I stared him down, eyes narrowing. “I can be as stubborn as you, Adam Drake. Stubborner.”
He hesitated, but I gave him no time to contemplate an escape plan. Tugging his hand, I towed him behind me. “Come on. Let’s go.”
There was no further argument. Men. So pigheaded, even when practically at death’s door.
We drove to Orange, to the facility where I’d received the majority of my cancer treatment and where I now trained to become a doctor. When we arrived, the phlebotomist took Adam’s blood before he was assigned an examining room. Adam sat in his underwear, refusing to put on the paper gown they’d offered him. He was scowling, his arms folded across his chest. I turned my face toward the wall, pretending to admire the reproduced artwork while, in truth, avoiding laughing at his pouting.
He was cute when he was playing the part of the reluctant patient.
Once I composed myself, I turned to him. “Well, this is a switch…you on the examining table, me the healthy one.”
“Yeah. Hilarious,” he replied. He’d opened his mouth to say more when the doctor knocked on the door and entered. Odds were it would be a physician that I knew, but I was pleasantly surprised that it was one of my current instructors, Dr. Sharma.
She was surprised to see me there, as evidenced by wide eyes and raised brows. “Mia. Hello,” she said, glancing down again at her tablet, which probably displayed Adam’s chart. Adam darted a glance between us. It seemed almost…nervous.