Until recently, she’d barely spoken to him. She’d always fled whenever he’d arrived in the vicinity. It was only this week they’d spent time alone together without her trying to run.
He liked it. He hoped it lasted.
Their food arrived about forty-five minutes later. Angie tucked her laptop into her handbag. They sat at the kitchen table, eating chicken tikka masala, saag paneer and naan, and laughing about nothing important.
YouTube videos. Movies. Television shows. Books.
It was comfortable. Fun.
They finished eating. They sat at the table a while longer, talking, when Angie’s face turned red and she sat back in her chair.
“Wow. I feel a little hot.”
“Might be the spice,” he replied, though it’d be a little odd for it to kick in after they’d eaten and not during.
“Could be.”
She drank deeply from her water glass and gave him a smile. They talked a while longer and then she pushed her hair from her face. She looked weary. Run down.
“You know, I didn’t sleep all that well last night. I think I might lie down for a bit.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Her smile was wan. “You’re a good guy, Colt. I really appreciate it.”
She pushed her chair back and stood. She wobbled, and Colt shot up to steady her. She smiled again.
“Sorry. Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well since this started, so I guess it’s more than last night catching up with me.”
He watched her make her way to the bedroom. The door opened and shut. Everything was silent. He started to clean up the dishes and put away any leftovers.
It wasn’t until nearly two hours had gone by and Angie still hadn’t emerged that he went to check on her. He tapped the door lightly.
She didn’t respond so he tapped harder. Still nothing.
He opened the door and peered in. She was huddled under the blankets, her body curled into a ball. He started to close the door and leave her, but on impulse he went over and laid a hand on her cheek.
Angie was burning up with fever.
“It’s not the flu,” someone said. “Probably a twenty-four hour bug.”
Angie dragged her eyes open to peer up at the men. Colt and… Jared? She thought that was his name. She’d met him earlier today at BDI, and then again a little while ago when he’d swabbed her throat.
She hadn’t enjoyed it, but she’d felt so miserable that she’d agreed if it would help her pounding head.
“What do we need to do?” Colt asked.
“I’ll give her some IV fluids to help with dehydration. There’ll be some anti-nausea meds, some vitamins, and an antacid to help with stomach acid. Tylenol for fever. It’ll help, but she’s still going to feel like hell for at least twenty-four hours. You’ll need to be careful if you’re staying with her.”
“I am,” Colt said.
“Wait,” Angie said, though speaking made her feel like she might throw up.
The two men looked down at her.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No,” Jared said. “I’m an EMT.”
Colt made a noise. “He’s being modest, minette. Jared was an Air Force para-rescueman. He’s an EMT, but the best of the best. PJs are the guys the Navy SEALs call when they need rescued.”
“Okay,” she said. Because what else could she say? If Jared was an EMT and he said she had a virus, and he was going to give her IV meds, then whatever. She’d let Maddy’s cat give her an IV if it’d help this nausea go away.
Jared left the room and Colt bent down to stroke her hair. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “It sucks to be sick.”
“I feel terrible,” she moaned. She wanted to cry. “Everything hurts.”
“I know, mon ange. Look, I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’m putting you in my bed. It’s bigger and more comfortable—and the bathroom is right there if you need it.”
“No, don’t give up your bed.”
“It’s fine, Ang. I’d rather you have it.” He scooped her into his arms and she clung to him, trying not to sob or throw up as he carried her into the bedroom next door. It was slightly bigger than the one she’d had, but the bed was a lot bigger. It was a king and he pulled the covers back and placed her on it.
She was wearing her leggings and the sweatshirt and thick socks she’d put on earlier, but she was still cold. He tugged the covers up and she gripped them in her fists. Her stomach heaved.
“I think—” she said. Then she threw the covers off and tried to dash for the bathroom. She didn’t quite make it.
Colt was there, gently holding her and pushing her hair out of the way while she puked on his bedroom floor.
“Oh god,” she groaned when it was over. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, minette. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Embarrassment would have eaten her alive if she’d had room for anything else. But she didn’t. She ached, her stomach hurt, her head hurt, and she was so cold she wanted to climb under the covers again and not come out.
Colt cleaned her up, got her back to bed, gave her some water—she nearly gagged on it going down—and then Jared returned with the IV. He sat beside her on the bed and went to work finding a vein and inserting the needle. Angie turned her head so she didn’t have to see. She hated needles.
She heard Colt leave the room and return. She couldn’t see him but she knew he was cleaning up the mess she’d made. Later, she would care. A lot. She’d be mortified and she’d think there was no way he’d find her sexy anymore. The days of him wanting to kiss her were over, that’s for sure.
Except none of that mattered at the moment. All that mattered was feeling better.
“There you go,” Jared
