Page 6 of Delicious
Mason smells like flour and sugar and whatever product he uses to—barely—tame those golden curls. His fingers twitch as we stand side by side, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from grabbing them. From grabbinghim.
I’m not like this. I don’t sleep my way through the cities I visit. Sure, I’ve had a few hookups and romances, but I’ve never been so overwhelmingly attracted to someone in my life.
As the elevator nears my floor, my stomach lurches.
Except, to my horror, I don’t think it’s lurching because we’re traveling up rapidly. I think it might be because of something I ate. I’m breaking out in a sweat, and I’m starting to feel light-headed. I’m going to be sick.
We go down the hall, and I pull out my key card.
“You don’t look so well,” Mason says. I glance at my face in a mirror, and I’m green.
“I don’t feel so well. Oh, God. Sorry.” Shame heating my cheeks, I run to the bathroom, slam the door behind me, and lose my lunch. My stomach heaves and cramps and turns.
Andfuck. This is not the way to have a sexy, romantic date.
Fuck.
I sink down onto the floor next to the toilet, my back to the bidet, holding my face in my hands and shaking.
There’s a gentle knock on the door. Before I can answer, Mason comes in and sits down on the edge of the tub. “Hey. You all right? Sorry, why’d I even ask that?”
I sigh, afraid I’m going to puke again. “Maybe steak tartare wasn’t the best idea.”
Mason reaches over and runs his fingers through my hair, and even though I feel awful, I want to lean into his touch. It’s so soothing. “Yeah, but this is Paris. Land of clean, high-quality food. It wasn’t gas station sushi.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me. Maybe it was the crepe.” I sit for a moment, wondering if my stomach is going to betray me again.
Mason stands up and wets a washcloth, then uses it to wipe my face. I feel like a child, but I also feel cared for.
“You don’t have to do that,” I grumble. Although it’s nice to have someone care for me. I’m so used to being on my own. Going from city to city means I don’t have any connections.
He gives me a warm smile. “Let’s get you into bed.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m in no shape to do much more than moan. “This is so romantic.”
Mason shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
He helps me to take my shoes off, and then I spend the next part of my life in misery, running to the bathroom every ten minutes.
After a bit, he says, “I’m going to go to a pharmacy. I don’t know what kind of meds they have here, but let me see what I can do.”
I’m lying on my bed, curled up like a land shrimp. Our wine bottles stand untouched on a bedside table. “Okay,” I whisper. I’m mortified that I got a second chance with a guy I used to have a crush on, and I’m spending it being utterly sick.
Pretty sure he’s leaving so he doesn’t have to come back.
CHAPTER5
Mason
Poor Ben! I know how miserable it is to feel that sick and incapacitated. I have no idea if the pharmacy will have anything for him, but I couldn’t just sit there and watch him be sick.
There’s a pharmacy on every other block in France, identified by the green cross, so I walk into the first one I see.
A tidy pharmacist with dark brown hair and perfect skin smiles at me. “Puis-je vous aider?”
I look around at the sleek white counters and boxes of cellulite cream, and my French fails me. “Um. Mon ami. Il fait vomit.”
“Your friend makes you vomit?” she asks in English.
