Page 38 of His to Win

“Honey, you’re not dying. Open the door and let me help you,” he coaxes.

“I feel like crap and I smell like puke.” Maybe I have food poisoning. That seems like a much better and safer conclusion than being pregnant.

“Okay, if you aren’t going to open the door then how about I get you a ginger ale and some Saltines? To help settle your stomach?”

My chest tightens. He’s being so sweet and I’m being a pain in the ass, but I can’t help it. I’m embarrassed and hate showing any kind of weakness.

“And a toothbrush?” I ask softly.

“I can do that. I’ll run down to the drugstore. Anything else?”

A pregnancy test? I don’t dare say that, of course, but I ask for some toothpaste, too. When he finally leaves, I have to admit it’s pretty nice having someone help me when I need it. Usually, I do everything myself. There have been times that I’ve been so sick and had to run to the store to get soup, gatorade and medicine, and I almost passed out before I could make it to the cash register. Having the luxury of someone taking care of me like this when I don’t feel well…it’s priceless and makes me wonder what it would be like to have Enzo in my life as my boyfriend.

It would be really damn nice. No doubt about it.

Once I drag myself up off the bathroom floor and swish some water around in my mouth, I dab my face off with a paper towel. Balling the paper towel up, I study my pale face in the mirror above the sink and try not to grimace. No doubt about it—I look like death warmed over. Feel like it, too.

After I get myself back into some semblance of order, I walk back down to my office and lay down on the small couch, curling up and tucking my hands beneath my chin. Enzo is back in record time, carrying two bags full of stuff. I pull myself up into a sitting position and frown.

“What is all that?” I ask.

“Everything you might want or need,” he says and strides over. While he reaches into a bag and plucks out a bottle of water with electrolytes, cracking it open for me, I peer into the other bag. I think he bought everything from Pepto Bismol to sore throat lozenges. Trying not to smile, I take the bottle her offers.

“Thank you.”

“You need to stay hydrated,” he tells me. Then he opens a package of crackers. “They didn’t have Saltines, but these are pretty close. They should help settle your stomach.”

He kneels down next to the couch and tilts the package toward me. I gratefully take one and nibble the corner.

“My mom always gave us crackers when our stomachs hurt,” he says, and I nod.

It’s weird because I’m starting to feel perfectly normal again. Like nothing was ever wrong and that’s a very big red flag. Could I be having morning sickness? The idea of being pregnant is enough to put me in a panic.

As I’m finishing my cracker, Enzo reaches for my foot and slips first one heel off followed by the other. Then he starts massaging my feet and I lean back against the couch, allowing myself to get more comfortable.

“Mmm, that feels so good,” I murmur, trying not to moan and failing miserably.

“You still look a little pale. It’s possible you could be coming down with something—” He leans closer and presses his palm against my forehead, “or you have food poisoning. Could even be a case of nerves and exhaustion. These last five weeks or so have been insane.”

For a moment, we’re both quiet as he continues kneading the arch of my left foot.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been the cause of any of that stress,” he says. He sounds so sincere and I want to pull him into my arms and kiss him. But then I remember my rank breath and decide I’d better not.

“Who knew Enzo Rossi could be so sweet?” I ask softly.

“Not very often. And only with you,” he adds, mouth edging up in an adorable smile.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, then sets my feet down on his thigh. “I have something to say, so will you hear me out? And consider my suggestion?”

“What?”

“I want to take you home, get you set up in your bed and then I want you to rest. To sleep because I know we didn’t get much sleeping done the last two nights.”

My cheeks flush and normally I would fight him over leaving the office early, but I think I puked all my fight out. I am tired. Exhausted even, and his suggestion sounds heavenly.

“If you want me to stay, I can, but then I’ll be tempted to touch you and…” He sends me a very seductive smile and shrugs his shoulders.

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