Page 66 of Love Sick

She holds her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

In Grace’s hands, my phone feels safe. It’s worlds different than seeing it in Ariel’s. My entire life is on that device. I trust Grace not to snoop or send crude text messages to important people, which means I’m free to collapse onto her couch, eyes falling shut. Her whole apartment smells like her, but her furniture is a heady dose. I turn my face into the fabric, breathing deep.

She plops onto the sofa next to my head. “I’m going to download a bunch of apps, okay?”

“Mmm.”

“This one helps with dosing and drug reactions. This one calculates DVT risk. This one tells you how to manage abnormal Paps. This one…”

She continues, but I drift, letting her dulcet voice be a lullaby. Stuck in the between world before sleep, I barely groan as fingers comb through my hair, gently scratching, lulling me further into the void. They slide my glasses off and I’m gone.

* * *

I wake to the smell of coffee, and blink at a ceiling that isn’t mine.

“You are so lucky I’m nice and didn’t draw a dick on your forehead last night.”

Sitting up, I find Grace clean-faced, rumpled wavy hair flowing around her, wearing a loose T-shirt and pajama shorts, proffering a cup of black coffee.

She has never been more fuckable.

“I thought we could start our first lesson today, since your panicked lack of knowledge drove you to such extremes as to sleep in the enemy’s lair last night.”

“Technically, the lair would be your bedroom. I slept in the enemy’s antechamber.”

She laughs and settles next to me with her own much lighter cup of coffee, topped in whipped cream.

“How was the vodka bar?” I ask.

Blowing on her coffee, she smirks. “I didn’t stay long since I had a sleeping dragon in my apartment.”

I pull a face. “Did I ruin your night?”

“Nah. I got to flex the dress. That’s all that matters.”

I tip my head in concession. “That dress is a gift to mankind.”

She stares at me, wide-eyed. “Was that a compliment?”

“It was a fact.”

A smile breaks over her face, bright and buoyant, and my stomach doesn’t fall. It disappears.

“I have to go.” The words fall from my mouth.

Her smile fades to confusion.

I shake my head, trying to clear away this persistent impression that my entire life is syncing to her heartbeat. “I’ll be right back.” I set down my coffee and swipe my glasses from the table. “Brush my teeth. Get contacts.”

“Oh.” She settles deeper into the couch. “Don’t take long. I’ve got plans for you.”

I freeze. “Why does that sound like I might not survive it?”

She smiles into her coffee, evil and suggestive, and I leave before I do something stupid.

Like hit on her.

When did I become such a huge Grace Rose stan?

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