“Okay.” I pulled myself into a sitting position. “I’ve felt better, but I don’t feel quite as bad as I did yesterday.”
“Good.” Taylor moved closer to the bed and peered at me suspiciously. “You don’t look quite as pale, although it’s hard to tell in here.” He reached out and flicked on my bedside lamp. I moaned sadly, my eyes blinking rapidly in the sudden light. I pulled my duvet up to my chest, suddenly aware I was naked. “You do realise I’ve seen you naked before, right?” Taylor asked, giving me a wry smile as he placed a hand on my forehead. His fingers were deliciously cool, and I leant into his touch.
“I know,” I said. “But that was different. That was sexy naked, not roasting-to-death-because-I’m-ill naked.”
“I don’t think there’s much difference.” Taylor gave me a small smile. “You’re still cute either way.”
“Thanks… I think,” I said, covering my mouth as I started coughing again. Taylor stepped back, looking pained, but I couldn’t tell whether it was out of sympathy or fear of catching whatever I had.
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” he asked, and I sighed mournfully.
“I don’t know. I still feel kinda sick. I don’t know if I’ll actually be sick, but I don’t know if I want to eat anything.” I twisted the duvet in my hands. “Unless you have any ice cream?”
“If you’re not well enough to have some pasta, you’re not well enough to have ice cream,” Taylor said with a grin.
“But that’s not fair!” I knew I was pouting and probably looked fucking ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Pasta is different from ice cream. Plus, chocolate ice cream has healing properties.”
“Does it?”
“Of course.”
“That feels like a lie, but since you’re ill, I’ll humour you.” Taylor leant down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, and something inside me sparked, flooding me with warmth. What had I done to deserve this man? And how the fuck could I keep him? He was everything I’d ever wanted in a boyfriend, and I’d stumbled upon him without even realising it. I’d spent so long looking for the perfect partner, and he’d been right under my nose the whole time.
I loved Taylor with everything I had. Nothing was going to change that. And he didn’t even know it.
“You don’t feel quite as clammy,” Taylor continued, blissfully unaware of the swirling mess of emotions currently inhabiting the space where my brain should have been. “Did you wanna get up and have a shower? I’ll make some dinner and then you can have some ice cream. Maybe we can watch a film for a bit?”
“Okay,” I said, not really registering what he was saying. He’d said something about food and a shower, which was probably a good idea. I hadn’t washed in two days, and I probably smelt rank.
As soon as Taylor’s back was turned, I took a quick sniff. Rank didn’t even cover it.
“Maybe I should change my sheets too,” I muttered to myself as I swung my legs out of bed. “They probably smell as bad as I do.”
Taylor snorted, and I felt my face heat. I didn’t think I’d said that as loud as I had. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it,” he said, pulling me to my feet and pressing a pile of clean clothes into my hands. “Go shower. You’ll feel better once you do. And leave the door open in case you fall. I don’t want to have to explain to the London Fire Brigade why they’re having to rescue you from behind a locked bathroom door.”
“You could batter it down?”
Taylor just raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “It’s been well established that I never get any exercise except sex. How the fuck am I supposed to batter a door down without your muscles? I’d be bloody useless, and you’d be stuck there forever. You’d be shower people.”
“Good point,” I said, giving him a soft smile that he returned before pushing me out the door.
“I know. Now go shower. You smell worse than Steve’s gym kit!”
Surprisingly, I did feel better after having a shower.
The hot water and the sharp scent of my lemon and tea tree body wash seemed to jolt me awake, defuzzing my brain and making me feel more human than I had in days. By the time I emerged in the clean t-shirt, hoodie, and jogging bottoms Taylor had handed me, I realised I was starting to feel hungry as well, not ravenous, but certainly peckish.
Taylor was in the kitchen, spooning pasta and tomato sauce into a bowl when I appeared.
“Better?” he asked, setting the spoon down to grate cheese across the top of the bowl. The smell was making my mouth water and my stomach rumbled appreciatively.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m kinda hungry now too.” Taylor gave me a smug smile that said this was all part of his plan before pushing a bowl of pasta and a spoon into my hand and shooing me towards the living room.
“I thought we could watch a film,” he said, watching me carefully as I folded myself onto the sofa. He produced a blanket and tucked it over my legs before I could say anything, and I was left trying not to laugh as he disappeared back into the kitchen. He returned with drinks, sadly of the non-alcoholic variety, and then his own dinner before settling in beside me.
“What do you want to watch?” He’d already pulled Netflix up, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he’d already chosen a film. Except it wasn’t anything I’d have thought Taylor would choose in a million years.
Mr. Smith Will See You Now was the blockbuster adaptation of a series of highly popular erotic ‘mummy-porn’ novels that had been a worldwide phenomenon a couple of years ago. The books were okay. I’d read them last year when my last relationship had ended. They
