Page 60 of Desperate Pucker
My stomach growls at the savory smell. “What is this?”
“Chicken bone broth.”
I dip the spoon in the liquid, blow on it, and take a sip. I close my eyes at the mild savory flavor and how warm it is.
Ryker sits in the armchair next to the couch. “Did you throw up while I was gone?”
I shake my head and take another sip. “I just slept.”
He reaches over and presses the back of his hand against my forehead. My skin tingles at the feel of his skin on mine.
“You don’t seem to have a fever.”
“I’m notsicksick. It’s just food poisoning.”
“You can have a fever with food poisoning sometimes.”
“Are you a nurse in addition to a hockey player?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I used to babysit my younger siblings growing up, and sometimes when they’d get sick, I’d look after them.”
That warmth inside of me intensifies when I picture this tough, grumpy guy looking after his little brothers or sisters.
“Are you the oldest?” I ask.
“Yeah. My parents had me when they were pretty young, in the middle of college.”
“Oh, wow.”
I glance up and see that he’s looking at me. His bourbon eyes are focused and watchful. His gaze lingers before he glances off to the side. Almost like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me. It makes my tummy flip.
“How much older are you than your younger siblings?”
“Sixteen years. My brother and sister are twins. They’re nineteen.”
I set my spoon down and grab the mug. “What’s this?”
“Ginger tea. It’ll help settle your stomach.”
I take a long, slow sip. He stands up and grabs my empty water glass, then heads to the kitchen to fill it up.
I watch him as he rolls up the sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing. I zero in on the thick muscles of his forearms, how they flex when he turns on the faucet.
That familiar flash of heat hits me. This hot, serious man is also a doting caretaker. That’s really fucking sexy.
I clear my throat and keep eating my soup.
“Easy,” he says when he sets the glass down in front of me. “Don’t eat too fast.”
“You pestered me to eat, and now you’re changing your mind.”
“I don’t want you to vomit again.”
I set my spoon down. I don’t want that either. He’s already seeing me at my grossest—unshowered, my hair a rat’s nest, wearing dirty, oversized pajamas. I don’t want him to see me puking my guts out too.
A wave of self-consciousness washes over me. As sweet as Ryker is being right now, part of me can’t help but feel uncomfortable that he’s seeing me like this—at my weakest and most vulnerable.
I sip my water. “You must love being the oldest sibling. You love being bossy. I bet you bossed around your little brother and sister constantly.”
