Page 63 of The Other Guy

She gives me a look. “Really? Because I just flushed my poop but need to wipe because I do have my limitations. And I’m still holding my puke bucket.”

I shrug. “Honest. This stuff doesn’t bother me. You could wipe in front of me even.”

She gives me a disbelieving look and wrinkles her nose. “Never. That’s just… I can’t even imagine that.”

I assure her. “Promise. It’s not as if I’ve never had to wipe my own ass.”

“Oh my gosh, Jack. Do you have no filter?”

“Not really. Do you want to lie down in bed or maybe on the couch? I can lay a sheet on it if you’d like. That way you can watch TV.”

“Sure. Couch would be great if you don’t mind me being out there.”

“Not at all. I’ll just…” I take the trash can from her so I can dispose of it and replace the bag. “Let you finish up in here while I get an area ready for you.”

She nods again and I leave her be.

I hear the shower turn on and am glad she’s feeling well enough to do that but listen carefully in case she needs me. Once I hear the curtain slide, I figure she’s good on her own.

Quickly getting rid of the contents of the trash can, I pull a clean sheet out of the hall closet and lay it out on the couch along with a pillow from the room she slept in last night. Then I place the trash can on the floor just in case and pour a glass of water for her to sip on.

I grab a pair of my boxers and a different t-shirt and knock lightly, letting her know I’m placing them inside and behave like a gentleman by turning my head so I don’t accidentally see anything. Not that there are many secrets between us anymore.

She comes out of the bathroom, hair wet and hanging down over my t-shirt. Face fresh and clean, she looks young and vulnerable.

Toby greets her and the two settle on the couch again.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She raises her eyebrows and I shake my head. “Sierra, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Or embarrassed about. We just know each other a little better now, is all.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. Like ever again.”

“But it’s my fondest memory of you.”

She rolls her eyes and lays her head down on the pillow, curling her legs up. The hem of the t-shirt rides up and I have a view of her perfect thighs and curse myself for noticing when she’s sick. I’m a terrible person.

I grab her a blanket and drape it over her, grateful to have her covered up a little bit.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Need anything else?”

“I’m okay right now. Pretty sure I got rid of stuff I ate in the 90s.”

I wince. “Yeah. It sounded like it.”

As soon as I take a seat and pick up the remote, she speaks up again. “You cheated.”

“Huh?”

She points a finger at the TV where Schitt’s Creek is paused.

“Oh! I’ll go back. I wasn’t really paying attention anyway.”

I get the previous episode running and we settle in. It’s still snowing outside and I started a fire this morning creating a glow and warmth that if Sierra wasn’t currently feeling like death, it would almost be romantic. If I wasn’t just her buddy, that is.

We continue watching a few more episodes but my attention continues to be drawn to Sierra. She’s curled up on her side with Toby snoring at her feet. I like her here, sick or not. “You’re staring. Afraid I’m going to throw up in your living room?” Her eyes are on the TV while she talks to me, letting me know that I’m far from sneaky. “And you still haven’t put a shirt on.”

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