Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(86)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“I’d like to know.”

He coughs and takes a sip of water from the bottle on the nightstand, all the while not looking at me. “You were mumbling. Saying you wanted me or something. I couldn’t really understand you.”

My throat closes up. He’s lying.

I drop my head down onto my arms and groan.

Having him hear me say the “L” word is bad enough, but what’s worse is knowing I actually meant it. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. One day, he was just a guy who annoyed the heck out of me, and now, without any warning or permission, he’s something else. Someone different.

Necessary and irreplaceable.

If that’s love, then it’s dumb.

“You know, you talk in your sleep, too,” I say, determined not to be the only one in purgatory.

He looks at me sharply. “What did I say?”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you remember?”

He looks at me for long seconds, and the amount of panic I see in his eyes isn’t even worth it. Either he remembers and regrets it or doesn’t and is terrified about having said it. Either way, I don’t get what I want.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You were so out of it I could barely understand you. Let’s just both agree that dream mumbling should be ignored, okay?”

He’s silent for a few seconds before he’s hit by a vicious coughing fit. He doubles over and grabs some tissues as he nearly gags on what he’s expelling from his lungs. I rub his back until the attack passes.

“You should take a shower,” I say as I stroke between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, I guess.” He sounds tired.

He gets out of bed and heads over to his dresser to grab a fresh pair of boxers. He glances at me before looking back into the drawer. “Did you … refold my underwear?”

I shrug. “Some of it.” Only the ones I felt up like a complete creeper.

“You’re strange.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart.”

When the bathroom door closes, I flop back onto the bed and exhale. I hadn’t envisioned that taking care of my sick ex-non-boyfriend would be such a mortifying experience.

I’m just about to head into the kitchen to prepare breakfast when Holt’s phone rings.

The caller ID says “Home,” and thinking it might be Elissa, I answer it. “Ethan’s phone, Cassie speaking.”

There’s a pause, then, “Cassie? This is Maggie Holt.”

My stomach jumps up into my throat, and my voice cracks as I say, “Oh, hi, Mrs. Holt.”

A girl is answering her son’s phone first thing in the morning. This looks bad.

“So, Cassie, how are you?”

“He’s in the shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“That’s why I’m answering his phone. Showering.”

“I see. So you’re—”

“Just hanging out. I know how this must seem, but I just want you to know that there’s nothing going on with me and Ethan. We’re not sleeping together. Well, actually, we did last night, but that was actual sleep, if you know what I mean. He was pretty doped up. On cough medicine. He’s sick. Very sick.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose in an effort to stop the ramble.

“I mean, he doesn’t need a lung transplant or anything, but he’s sick enough to need someone to take care of him. That’s what I’m doing here. And answering his phone. Obviously. Wow, your son takes really long showers, huh?”

Kill me now.

There’s a soft laugh, and I take it as a cue to just breathe. My face is hotter than the surface of the sun.

“Cassie, it’s fine. Elissa let us know at dinner last night that he was sick and that she’d asked to you to play nurse. Thank you for agreeing. I know my son isn’t the most pleasant patient. When he was a kid, I’d have to bribe him with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toys in order to get him to take his medicine.”

The image of Holt as a bratty child was almost too adorable to bear. “Really?”

“I’m afraid so.”

A huge coughing fit comes from the bathroom, and I hear Mrs. Holt cluck her tongue. “I don’t suppose he’s been to the doctor?”

“No, but he’s actually sounding much better today.”

“That’s better?”

“Uh huh.”

“Poor baby.” She pauses, then says, “Actually, Cassie, I’m glad we’re speaking. Are you heading home for Thanksgiving?”

“Uh … no. I can only afford one return trip this year, and Mom and Dad want me to come home for Christmas.”

“So you’re free for the holidays?”

“I guess.”

“Great. I’d like you to come and stay with us in New York.”

“Oh … Mrs. Holt—”

“Please, call me Maggie.”

“Maggie, I don’t know. Ethan—”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with him. You’re Elissa’s friend too, and she’d love you to stay. Besides, we can’t have you spending Thanksgiving alone. That would be a tragedy.”

“Still, I don’t think that—”

“Nonsense. I won’t take no for an answer. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Before I have a chance to argue, Holt emerges from the bathroom, bare chested, with just his boxers on.

He rubs a towel across his hair and coughs before mouthing, “Who is it?”

I hold my hand over the receiver. “Your mom.”

He coughs again before gesturing for the phone.

“Maggie? Ethan’s out of the shower now. And fully clothed, I might add. Well, not fully. He’s not wearing a shirt, but all the important parts are covered.” Oh, for the love of God. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You, too, Cassie. See you next week.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.”

Holt takes the phone and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, Mom.” His voice is barely there. “I sound worse than I feel. I don’t need to see a doctor. Yep, already taking antibiotics.”

He pauses then glances over at me. “Yeah, Cassie’s been taking good care of me. I’m much better today.”

He listens for a few seconds then frowns. “You what?”

He flushes with anger and strides past me into the living room. Even though he drops his voice to a harsh whisper, I can still make out what he’s saying.