So I peeked. There was a massive, César-sized lump huddled under the covers of his equally massive bed. The lump hadn’t yet moved.
“César? You ok?” I walked on in and looked around the room. I hadn’t been in here at all, but the interior design ran the same as the rest of the house, with shiny, gold curtains that made giant puddles on the floor, and a crystal and gold chandelier that looked to be four or five feet across hanging over his bed. It made me fear a little for his safety, sleeping under that gaudy behemoth.
The lump on the bed sighed and shifted. “I’m ok,” he said, but his voice croaked, an octave deeper than usual so that he sounded like he could have communicated with whales. “I’m tired this morning. I’ll be up soon.”
I walked over to the bed to check on him. He did look vaguely Roman, with his high cheekbones, his strong nose and square jaw. His jaw was currently covered in morning stubble that I usually didn’t get to see and I reached to touch it, putting my hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes to look up at me. “Are you feeling ok?” I asked. I put my hand on his forehead. “You feel hot to me, like a fever.”
“Maybe. My throat hurts some.” He turned his head back and forth, a little movement that lightly rubbed his forehead against my palm.
“I’ll make you some tea, ok? I’ll be right back.” I reluctantly withdrew my hand from his face, and when I came back up to his bedroom, I brought a cup of tea that smelled disgusting, like the floor of a barn, and some oatmeal with the seeds that he always added to make it even more healthy. “Want to sit and have this?” I asked. I put down the tray on the mirrored nightstand and adjusted the pillow as he sat up, the sheet sliding down around his waist. I looked at the line of dark hair down the middle of his stomach and the hard contours of the muscle of his chest, stomach, shoulders, and arms. Holy shit, he looked Roman. Like a Roman god.
“Cam? Maybe you shouldn’t be around me.” He pointed at my tummy, took a sip of the offensive tea, and winced.
I ignored that and sat on the bed next to him, his big thigh pressed against my hip. “Is the tea ok? It smelled so bad, I figured it had to be healthy.”
“It’s delicious.” But he made a face as he swallowed, and put his hand on his throat. “Thank you for bringing this.”
I reached out to touch his face again. “Will you relax your standards about taking medicine if I get you something to lower your fever?”
“Sure,” he said, and again, reluctantly, I pulled away from him to get the pill bottle of ibuprofen. But I put myself right back on the bed when I returned.
“There. Eat up,” I told him, and shook the pills into his wide palm. He swallowed them. “Now I guess I’ll learn more about you,” I said. “What I know so far is that you are great with a mop and pretty good at football.” We had cleaned a lot the previous weekend and I had been impressed with his skills, but the party destruction had been best handled by the professionals that César had called to finish what we started.
“Pretty good at football,” he repeated, and smiled a little. “You meant, the best tight end in the Confederation.”
“You’re not so bad,” I allowed. “And now I’ll see how you are when you’re sick. My old roommate, Morgan, used to prostrate himself on the floor when he had a hangnail.”
“I don’t think I’m that much of a weakling,” César said. “I’ll try to follow your lead. I used to hear you so sick in the bathroom, then you’d come out as white as a sheet, pick up your purse, and go off to work.”
“After you made me some gross tea like this,” I said. “Drink.”
He did. “I hated seeing you like that. I’m glad it’s over,” he said.
“Yeah, but the birth…you know, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Speaking of, you have your doctor’s appointment today. Are you planning to be there on time?”
“I’m planning on it,” I told him. “But I don’t think you should come if you’re feeling like this.” Even though I wanted him to, a lot. I didn’t want to be at that office alone, and anyway, he was fun to hang out with.
“I’ll be better by the afternoon,” César promised, but then paused and frowned. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right. There are all those pregnant women there and some with babies. I don’t want to get anybody sick. But I have a lot I want to ask the doctor.”
“I can ask for you. Send me whatever you thought of.”
Well, he already had a list written up. I brought him his computer and watched him click open the file labeled “Camdyn Riordan.” It was full of documents and spreadsheets. “What is all that?” I asked curiously. “And do you know another Camdyn so you had to use my last name?”
“I started it a few weeks ago, after you climbed the gate and came to my door. It’s just stuff I’ve been thinking about.” He closed the file and shut the laptop. “There’s a list of things that I need to buy, like car seats, a crib, a changing table—”
I got up from the bed. “Do you need anything else right now? Water, more food? I have to get to the winery.”
He sat
