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Asshole, I mouthed to the guy via my rearview mirror and slowly pulled out. Agatha slept the rest of the drive home even though traffic ensured the journey took a bit longer. When I pulled into my parking space, I debated if I should wake her or attempt carrying her.
When I released her seat belt, she opened her groggy eyes and tried to focus on my face.
“I’m going to carry you inside, okay? Stay asleep,” I issued in my more assertive tone, but she sat forward and tried to push me out of the way.
“No, I can walk. I’m fine.” She shoved at my hip a second time, and I growled without thinking. Her stubbornness could really be infuriating.
“Why are you so resistant to help? You just barfed your guts out. You’re going to be weak,” I lectured as she bolted upright from the car.
And instantly wobbled on her legs and then plopped right back down into the car. She cradled her face in her hands and slowly shook her head.
“What the hell is going on? I’ve thrown up more times than I care to admit. And I’m usually better for it. This is ridiculous.”
“Darling, I saw what just came out of your body. I think you’re actually ill and not vomiting from a bender like you’re used to.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because she defiantly stood again but held on to the door to ensure she was steady first. She must have been satisfied with her balancing ability because she abruptly slammed the car door and headed for the apartment. By the time she was midway up the stairs, though, she slowed to a full stop.
Thankfully I was right behind her to support her, or I thought she might have tumbled backward down the flight. I tucked my shoulder into her abdomen and hoisted her up and over it. Not the graceful, caring hold I had in mind initially, but in the middle of a concrete staircase, there weren’t many options. I just wanted her back on solid ground as quickly as possible. I already had my keys in hand, so we were inside in a snap.
“Put me down. This is making me queasy,” she said from where she hung over my back.
I slid her down to her own feet immediately and held her by the waist until she looked steady.
“All right, let’s get you in bed. No arguing. You need to sleep and drink something so you don’t get dehydrated. Your poor lips already look dry.”
With my comment, her tongue swiped out over the bottom lip, and she groaned.
“Okay,” she finally acquiesced.
Internally I cheered in gratitude and led her to our bedroom.
Beside the bed I instructed, “Arms up, baby.”
“Huh?”
“You can’t sleep in this dress. You’ll ruin it. Arms up, and I’ll help you get changed.” I internally battled for some patience. Why did everything have to be a damn debate?
“You don’t have to do all this…this caretaking. I’m an adult. I can change my own clothes.”
I bent forward again to grab the hem of her dress and explained, as I pulled it up over her body, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Do you not understand that I genuinely care about you?”
She puffed out a breath, and because we were standing so close, I caught a very intense whiff of medicine. Odd…
But then the color of her emesis flashed through my mind again. I combined that particular green color with the odor of medicine, and the pieces clicked together. I narrowed my eyes and debated speaking my theory.
I mean, no way was she that bad that she’d be drinking cold medicine for a buzz. Was she? That was adolescent bullshit I definitely wouldn’t tolerate. I just wasn’t prepared for the confrontation that would come after the accusation. We still had to address the things that happened this morning in front of the church.
Agatha sat on the edge of the bed in her bra and tiny panties. Even in her ailing state, she robbed the air straight from my lungs. Before my dick got any stupid ideas, I hustled to my dresser to grab a T-shirt for her. She flopped back on the mattress with her arms extended above her head, and her silky hair spread across the blankets.
Don’t, I silently warned myself. This was not an invitation to mount her, even though every healthy young male cell in my body tried to convince me otherwise. When I tried to ask her to sit up so we could get the shirt on, my voice was unrecognizable. After clearing my throat, I tried a second time.
“All right, gorgeous. Let’s get this on so you’re warm and I’m not tempted to fuck you. My God, woman. You’re like a siren lying there like that.”
A devilish smile crossed her lips for a brief moment, but by the time she sat up, all traces of the expression were gone. I bunched the shirt up and slid the neck opening over her head, and she handled the rest. I watched with typical male fascination as she unhooked her bra and pulled it through one of the arm holes like some sort of magic trick.
She pulled the covers back and got beneath them, but not before tossing the simple white bra on the floor. I bent to pick it up in the same second and laid it delicately on top of her dress on the armchair near the window. Once she was settled in, I’d hang it up properly.
“I’m going to get you a nice big water. Do you want ice?”
