Page 46 of Some Things Never Change

I groaned a bit as I got out of bed and immediately pulled off my cozy, warm pajamas to throw on the cold workout clothes I’d set out on top of my dresser.

I was about to step out of my room after getting dressed when I noticed something was off. Andy would usually be up by now, but he wasn’t. There were no signs of him being up and about. He usually woke up ten minutes before me and would already be sitting in the living room, rewatching an episode of The Office. That was when I noticed the heater was also off, which was the first thing he turned on when he woke up.

Huh? That was a bit weird. I rushed to the end of the hallway where his room was. “Andy?” I called out as I tapped on his door.

Nothing.

I tapped a little harder on his door and raised my voice. “Andy?”

“Tink,” a faint, hoarse, and unrecognizable voice called out to me. “Come in.”

As I entered his dark room, he groaned as I pulled back his curtains. He blinked lazily up at me, and that was when I knew he was sick. He had been complaining about an itchy throat and being more tired than usual for the last two days, but I didn’t think much about it until now.

Andy's cheeks were bright red. His usually fluffy, sleep-tousled brown hair was dark and damp from sweating. I was surprised he still hadn't stripped down to his boxers yet.

“Oh my God.” I was horrified as I instantly came to his bedside. I gently pushed his fringe back and used the back of my palm to test how much he was burning up. His forehead was too hot. “You’re burning up.”

“Your hand feels good.” Andy’s throat was sore, but at least he could speak. I watched as he sat up and tiredly leaned against the headboard.

My hands were ice cold from washing my face earlier, but I guess they were to his liking. “Andy, you need to take off your PJs. They’re damp with sweat.” I touched the thin fabric of his cotton tee.

He groaned. “Okay.”

Andy sat up with a long breath and immediately pulled his shirt over his head, flashing me his abs. His arms could barely lift up much without him complaining about his muscles aching, so I jumped in to help him pull up the hem of his shirt.

“This feels nice,” Andy babbled, as I moved on to undo the loose knot he tied for the drawstring of his pajama pants. “Your hands feel nice on my body.”

I blinked, trying to hold back a blush. I barely registered how I was undoing my best friend’s pants until his comment. Wordlessly, I helped him pull off his pants, which only left him in his black boxer briefs.

After I pulled his bed sheet over him, I reached out to touch him again. I cupped his hot, burning face with both of my still icy hands as I held his face up to look at me. His blinks were slow and groggy, as a frown tugged on his lips.

“I feel like shit,” Andy announced softly. The dark, puffy circles under his red eyes were a telltale sign he didn’t sleep well last night either.

“Well, you look like shit,” I confirmed.

He gave me a weak smile. “Thanks.” He lifted his arms up slowly to place his searing hands over mine and pressed them deeper into his face. He hummed a strange, scratchy tune.

“This feels nice.”

“Let me go grab some meds for you.”

Before I got an answer from him, I was already out of his bedroom and down the hall to my bathroom. I went straight to my medicine cabinet to grab the bottle of ibuprofen I typically had for cramps. Then I rummaged under the sink for the extra hand towels I decided to get last minute on a Target run last weekend. In the kitchen, I filled up a medium-sized mixing bowl with cool water and a huge mug with drinking water.

I was a little worried Andy might have fallen asleep when I got back with everything on a tray, but the champ was still up but in a slight daze. As he downed the fever-reducing pills, I got to work on helping him break his horrible fever. I used one of my hand towels as a cool compress on his forehead and the other to wipe down his perspiring face, neck, and upper body.

Andy hummed and, with his sore throat, it almost sounded like a purr with each pass I made over his upper body—over those chiseled arms, chest, and abs. Although he had an amazing set of muscles literally everywhere on his frame, I didn’t have the time to gawk or get flustered. I solely set my mind on making sure his fever broke so he could get the much-needed rest his body needed.

Suddenly, Andy’s body jerked. One of my hands mindlessly went over his flat navel. It was barely a brush, but I wasn’t sure if I hurt him or not as he shifted away from me.

“I’m good now,” he stated. Even with his sore throat, I could hear the gruff tone he used on me.

“Sorry, was I too rough?” I asked.

Andy blinked slowly as he turned to his side with his back turned toward me. He pulled the covers up over his shoulders. “No, I just have a sensitive stomach.”

I gave him an unconvinced look. “Since when?”

I grew up with him and somehow never even knew his stomach was this sensitive? Was this even the same Andy Hughes I knew?

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