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He says nothing else as I leave the room. I fill a crystal tumbler with ice and water, then place it on his nightstand before I search the master bath for medication. In the closet next to the vanity, I find a full shelf of medications, but most are expired by at least a year. They wouldn’t help except for the aspirin, which still has a few months before it becomes ineffective. As hot as Foster felt, he needs the aspirin to bring his fever down. I shake two tablets into my hand and carry them back into the bedroom. The blanket partially hides his head.
“Foster?”
He groans, then his body shakes with another coughing fit.
“What?” he croaks.
“Sit up and take this aspirin. You need to get your fever down.”
“Leave me; I’ll be fine.” His cough is so deep that I can hear the mucus in his chest as he tries to dislodge it.
I grit my teeth while ordering, “Stop being a baby and take this, please.”
Foster is the typical alpha male, not wanting to admit he is sick. I pull the quilt down and stare until he complies, sitting up with a groan. He pops the pills and gulps down the ice water before another coughing fit takes hold. When it finishes, he turns onto his side, giving me his back.
“I need to go to the store,” I tell him. “All the cough and sinus medication you have in the bathroom are expired.”
Foster clears his throat as he tightens the blanket around him. “You don’t need to go out. You can call the concierge and tell him what you want.”
“Is that what you would do if I weren’t here?”
“Probably or call my mother.”
“Foster Black, you have your mother come here to take care of you?”
“I’m her only child.”
I almost burst into laughter. If only Foster’s colleagues and employees could see him calling his mother.
“And an adult,” I mumble instead.
When Foster coughs again, I sit on the edge of the bed and rub his back through the quilt. His breathing is raspy, and I am tempted to smooth back his thick hair. Instead, I leave him to sleep so I can call downstairs to give them an order for medication and a few other items. It was nice to live in a full-service building.
I spend most of the afternoon re-reading one of my favorite romance novels that I picked up in a bookstore a few years ago. I like the feel of a physical book in my hands and brought over a box of them when I moved in with Foster. Foster slept most of the day away. I periodically check on him, touching his head to make sure his fever is down. The next time I checked him, he mumbles my name.
Pausing, I say, “Foster?” When I get no answer, I assume he is still asleep, thinking it is funny he would say my name. After leaving his room, I am deciding on what to eat when Foster has another fit of coughs, indicating he is awake.
I hurry back down the hall. Pushing his door open, I snap the light switch on the wall.
Foster winces. “Ugh, shut it off.”
I flick the switch back down, bathing the room in darkness once again. The hallway light guides me to his bed.
“How do you feel?”
“A cross between being run over by a truck and kicked off a mountain.”
“I’m not sure how to assess that feeling. Are you hungry?”
He gestures to the empty glass on his nightstand. “I’m thirsty.”
“I got some supplies from the concierge. You should take a dose of cough medicine. I hope you like cherry.”
“I’ll take it if you get me something to drink.”
I scowl. “I would get you something to drink even if you didn’t take it.”
Without saying another word, I fetch the new cough medication from his bathroom and place it on his nightstand, then move to refill his glass. In the kitchen, I scrub it clean and fill it with ice and orange Gatorade. I’m taking a chance that he likes the stuff. If he doesn’t, maybe juice will do.
