Page 57 of Desperate Pucker
I knock and wait for her to answer. A minute later, the door opens.
My chest aches at the sight of her. She’s hunched over, clutching her arm over her stomach. She’s pale, her lips are chapped, and her hair is tied up in a messy bun.
She looks so small and so weak. Every muscle in my body twitches with the urge to pull her into my arms and hug her tight.
It takes all the willpower I have not to do it. She’d fucking hate that.
“See? I’m fine,” she says in a tired voice.
I shake my head. “Jesus, Maddy. You’re clearly not fine. What happened?”
She steps aside to let me in. I slide off my sneakers and shut the door behind me. Gently, I take her arm and lead her inside her apartment.
“I think it was the hot dog.” She groans.
“When did you start to feel sick?” I walk her to the living room and help her lie down on the couch.
“In the middle of the night.”
She curls on her side in the fetal position, rests her head on a pillow, and closes her eyes. I grab the blanket that’s bunched up at the end of the couch and drape it over her.
“How come you’re not sleeping in your bed?” I ask.
“I sweat through my bedsheets when I got sick,” she mumbles.
“How many times have you vomited?” I sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of her and push her hair out of her face.
“A hundred.”
I mutter a curse. She’s probably dehydrated from throwing up so much and from sweating.
“Have you had anything to drink?”
“Some water,” she murmurs.
I stand up and head to the kitchen. Her apartment is a massive open-concept floor plan, with the living room, kitchen, and dining area in the same space.
I text the guys and Ingrid that she’s sick with food poisoning and won’t be coming into work today, then I fill a glass of water.
I walk back over to her. “You need to be drinking way more water.”
She makes a face. “I’m not thirsty.”
“You’re dehydrated, Maddy. You need to be drinking fluids constantly, otherwise you’re not going to get better.”
She opens her eyes and sighs. “Okay.”
I help her sit up and hand her the glass of water. She takes a long gulp, then stops to catch her breath.
“Drink that entire glass,” I say. “Every last drop.”
“So bossy,” she mutters.
My brain flashes back to our hookup in the elevator, how she whined about me being bossy.
I raise my eyebrow at her.
Oh, princess. You have no idea.
