Page 85 of What Are The Odds?
Grace stopped, forcing me to do the same. I turned to look at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maybe I should stay in a hotel or something.”
“No way.”
“Levi,” she exhaled, defeated. “Look at me.”
“I am.”
“Now look at you. You can’t look likethatand hold my hand while I look like this.”
“Hughesy, you’re sick. So I’ll let that stupid comment pass.”
I bent down and kissed her. Long and slow.
“I don’t care if you’re in sweats. Or that you’re all snotty. Or that you currently sound like a throaty porn star.”
She snickered at that.
“You’re my girl and I’m going to look after you. Got it?”
She laced her fingers back through mine.
*
“What is this?” Tripp asked, setting his bag on the kitchen island.
“I’m making soup.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“Hughesy’s upstairs. She’s sick.”
His bottom lip pouted. “Hughesy’s sick?”
“Yeah. So stay away from her.”
I was willing to risk having to play through a head cold, but not the rest of the team. We had an important game this week. All our games this year were important. I followed the recipe down to the smallest measurements. While I could whip up a fried breakfast or carb-filled dinner without thinking, soup wasn’t my area of expertise. After scrolling through his phone, Tripp began rummaging through the fridge.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making Hughesy a smoothie. This recipe swears it’s the antidote to sickness.” He slammed the fridge closed. “Do we have any ginger?”
“Of course we don’t have fucking ginger,” I answered.
Just like we hadn’t had any of the ingredients we needed for soup. I’d driven to the supermarket and stocked up on all the goods. Including chocolate for when Grace was starting to feel better. Will didn’t let us have chocolate in the house. In fact, he vetoed almost all good snacks. I kept a stash in my dresser. I know the other guys did too. Once finished, I slowly climbed the stairs with the hot bowl of soup. I had to admit, it smelt fucking delicious. Grace was sitting up when I walked into my room. The pillows were stacked up around her, making her seem small in the huge bed. Her groggy eyes were fixed on the TV. She was watching some whack show called Kath & Kim. I guess the Australian accents were a comfort to her.
“Dinner time,” I called.
The bed dipped when I sat down. I set the bowl in her lap. Her cheeks were puffy and swollen, and her poor nose looked sore. Yet she still looked fucking adorable.
“You know, for someone who prized himself on not dating, you really have the whole boyfriend thing down pat,” she said in disbelief.
I slid so I was sitting beside her. She was kidding if she honestly thought I was going to sleep on the couch.
“And how do you know what the whole boyfriend thing should be like?”
