Page 82 of Rush the Edge

I turn and put my back to her. I grip the top of the door jamb and pause.Leave.

I peer over my shoulder and trace the curve of her body through the darkness, but that’s when I hear her.

The smallest whimper falls from her lips.

I turn and stare.

She shifts and pulls her knees up higher, giving me a better view of the tiny shorts she’s wearing.

I walk closer and really give her a look. I wouldn’t put it past her to fake a wet dream just to throw me off my game.

As if I can wake her with my stare, I drive my attention onto her. My worry heightens from the wince on her face. I scan her from head to toe.

She’s shaking.

Without the intent to wake her, I place the back of my hand on her cheek.I pull my hand away just as quickly.Fuck.She’s burning up.

Another faint whimper hits my ears as I move to her bathroom. I pull open all the drawers, and naturally, there isn’t a thermometer anywhere. I know for certain that I don’t have one laying around upstairs.

I never get sick, and I surely never take care of anyone who’s sick.

Landing on her bedside table, I pull open the drawer in hopes that it’ll be in there.

It takes a second for my head to catch up with the rising of my dick.

Does River know about these?Jesus.

Several condoms in various sizes are scattered around and not one buttwovibrators. As if one isn’t enough for her?

Goddamn it, focus.

Jogging back to the bathroom, I wet some towels like my mom used to do when I was sick. I wring them out so they’re damp with cool water. With a steady hand, I push back her soft hair until her face comes into full view. I place the rag onto her forehead, and her nose scrunches immediately. That plump bottom lip of hers steals my attention when it plops out with a pout.

“Mom, stop,” she whines, brushing my hand away.

I chuckle under my breath. She makes a whiny noise in response.

“I’m fine,” she mutters.

“You’ve really gotta quit saying that, Daisy-Petal.”

Daisy jerks awake with a gasp. Her eyelashes flutter several times before our eyes connect in the dark.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not fine,” I say. “Now move over.”

Twenty-Nine

DAISY

Is this a fever dream?

Kane Barlow, in nothing but low-hanging sweats, standing beside my bed in the middle of the night seems like a ruse.

He mutters something under his breath before his arms glide beneath my back, shoving me toward the center of my bed. Something cold and wet falls off my forehead, but he’s quick to put it back in its rightful spot before lifting my blankets and covering us both up.

Another chill wracks my body, and my teeth suddenly start to chatter.

“Come here,” he whispers.

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