Page 93 of The New Guy
“Yeah.” I turn my eyes back to the soup. “Took me long enough. And now I can’t even go?”
“Not unless you want to give the flu to a bunch of homeless queer kids.”
“When you put it like that.”
Gavin puts a hand on my messy head and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. But I’ll get over it.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry this is so hard. I spent yesterday watching bad TV with Jordyn and wishing I could see you.”
“Oh. That sounds awfully familiar.”
He chuckles, and then his hand checks my forehead for fever. “Did you take any Advil?”
“Not yet.” I wasn’t going to bother. But when he fishes some out of his bag and puts them in my hand, I swallow the pills, because I like him fussing over me. “Nobody’s ever brought me soup when I was sick. Not since grade school, anyway.”
“What? Why?” he asks, handing me the juice.
“My dad doesn’t believe in babying anyone.” I shrug. “And my mom goes along with it.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s notbabyingyou to feed you soup, or look after you when you’re sick. And you never mention your mom.”
I shrug again. “We’re not close. Not since I was little. And then the minute my dad retired, he turned all his focus onto me. Like I was supposed to carry the flag for the family.”
“Yikes,” Gavin says, pulling a forehead thermometer out of his bag and pressing it against my head. “That sounds healthy.”
“I liked it,” I admit. “He knew a lot about hockey, and I liked the attention.”
“But you never had a choice,” he points out.
I guess that’s true. But it’s also a problem for another day. “How many guys are out?”
“Seven,” he says. “Nobody is super sick, though. Coach is just trying to keep it that way.”
“Fair enough.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Your temperature is a hundred and one. How do you feel?”
“Achy and tired. My throat is rough, and my head hurts. But I’ve had worse days.”
Gavin stands up. He puts a hand on my jaw and meets my gaze. His look is assessing—as if he’s trying to decide if I’m underplaying my symptoms.
Then he leans over and gives me a kiss on the jaw. Just one. “Take care of yourself. Text me if you need anything. I’m supposed to call Dr. Herberts with updates. We’re both making house calls.”
He’s holding the place together. Just like always. “Aren’t you supposed to take Jordyn to the game tonight?”
He winces. “I was. But now she’s sick, and apparently I’m a big meanie for keeping her at home.”
“Oh hell.”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Text me if you need anything.”
“I will,” I say, and it’s so damn tempting. Because I can think of a million things I need from Gavin.
Many of them are sexual, however. Sue me.
He leaves, which makes me sad. I wash the bowl and set it in my drying rack. At least I’ll have a reason to stop over there sometime and return it.
