Page 86 of Duke
Desperate Times Call for Shirtless Measures
Wheeler
Jack is heading up to first class for dinner with Rose and her terrible fiancé when I’m hit by an especially violent bout of nausea.
Bile surges up my throat in a bitter-tasting gush of heat. I launch myself off the couch and make it to the powder room just in time to throw up the peppermint tea I’ve been sipping all afternoon.
“Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.” Duke’s somehow right behind me already. “You all right?”
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I nod. “I’ll be okay. This shit comes out of nowh—”
I retch. More puke.
I’m shaking, andoh Lord, Duke is pulling my hair out of my face and holding it in his hand as I continue to lose the contents of my stomach in the toilet bowl.
The force of my sickness pushes tears from my eyes. I’m shaking.
I’m also so,soembarrassed that I’m vomiting in front of Duke. The smell, the noises I’m making, the way my body convulses—it is literally the unsexiest thing on planet Earth.
Why, God, why?
But Duke, being the stellar human he is, just takes it in stride.
“I imagine this really, really sucks for you,” he practically coos while gently placing his free hand on the small of my back. “I’mso sorry. Let me know if you wanna rinse your mouth out with water. Sometimes that helps.”
I nod, too embarrassed—too tired—to do anything else.
Next thing I know, he’s turning on the sink. Keeping my hair in his hand in a kind of ponytail, he gently guides me to the water. He even goes so far as to cup his hand underneath the faucet, allowing me to drink from his palm like some wounded baby animal.
“I hate you seeing me like this.” I sound as miserable as I feel.
Duke chuckles softly. “Blue, this is nothing. Ever witnessed a five-hundred-pound bull having explosive diarrhea?”
“That happens?”
“I’ve seen it firsthand. You’re fine.” He shuts off the water and grabs the nearby towel to wipe my mouth. “Well, you’re not fine, clearly. But this don’t bother me one bit.”
Suddenly we’re face-to-face. His brows are pinched together, eyes full of concern.
“Promise?” I ask.
Those eyes stray to my forehead, my nose, my chin. Like he’s checking to make sure I’m not dying or something.
“I promise.”
I start to cry. The physical misery of this, the emotional turmoil, but also howgoodit feels to be looked at this way, cared for—it slams into me with the force of a freight train, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
I have never been more overwhelmed in my life. This is so bad but also so wonderful, and I just—none of it computes.
“Aw, Wheeler.” Duke does that thing where he pulls me into his chest, practically smothering me with his warmth and solidness andgoodness.
The T-shirt he changed into after we got home smells like Tide detergent. Same kind Mom used when we were growing up.
It’s a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless.
I breathe in the scent and feel my heart rate slow as he cups the back of my head in his enormous hand.
He holds me. I let him.
