30. You and I are Already Buds

CHAPTER 30

YOU AND I ARE ALREADY BUDS

ABBI

When I’d said I never wanted Weston to leave me, it may have been a miscalculation.

Because he’s so bossy. Wake up, Abbi. Drink this, Abbi.

Can’t a girl get the flu in peace?

Not to mention that I probably look terrible—like someone who’s been dipped in the fry basket at the Biscuit. Nobody wants the world’s hottest hockey player wiping sweat off her forehead. Not if he’s doing it only out of guilt.

Even if it feels really nice.

Especially when he kisses my forehead so gently afterward.

Damn it.

At one point I wake up and Dalton of all people is here. He’s fussing with an ear thermometer and calling in a prescription. “Make sure she’s getting fluids,” he says to Weston.

“Yes. I will, sir.”

And then we’re back to Drink this, Abbi , and Swallow this pill . But I just want to sleep for a week.

Finally, I wake up again, and there’s sunshine streaming in the window. That means it’s late afternoon. It’s quiet, too. Weston isn’t sitting on the bed anymore, or fussing over me.

I roll over and groan into the silence .

“Oh, you’re awake,” says a strange voice.

“What the…” I sit up suddenly and the room spins.

“Easy,” says a floppy-haired blond guy. He gets up from my sofa and approaches me slowly, on a set of crutches.

I squint, because he looks familiar. “You’re a hockey player,” I mumble. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

“Well, Weston had to go to practice. It’s the playoffs, you know. But I couldn’t go.” He points to a cast on his leg. “So I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I slur, falling back onto the pillow. “You can go.”

“No way. I’m on duty.”

“What?” My throat is sandpaper, and nothing makes sense. “What are you talking about?”

“Weston sent me to make sure you're okay. I'm supposed to message him every half hour. If I’m late, even by a minute, he blows up my phone.”

“Um…” I try to swallow. “And how long have you been doing that?”

“Since noon.”

“And it’s…?” Please say twelve thirty .

“Four p.m.”

“You've been watching me sleep?” I squeak. “I don’t even know you. That's creepy.”

“Nah, I’m Weston’s teammate. Cooper. So you and I are already buds,” he says, crutching past me on the way to my kitchen, opening my cabinet and locating the glasses on the first try. "You sound like you need a drink." He opens the fridge. "Ginger ale, fresh squeezed orange juice, Gatorade, or water?"

"What? I don't have any of those things."

He opens the door wider and shows me a full complement of beverages, plus a plethora of unfamiliar food items. "Weston stocked you up. After you have something to drink, you'll have your choice of soups, along with toast if you're feeling up to it."

I blink.

“So what will it be?”

I'm so confused right now. “I’d love some juice, I guess.” But how is he going to carry it over here ? I start to get up but he grabs the juice bottle, shoves it into the big front pocket of his hoodie and closes the refrigerator before coming back to me.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him. But then I can't get it open. My hands feel weak and ineffective as I tug at the lid. And I have the sudden urge to cry.

My unlikely caretaker sits down heavily at the edge of the bed, grabs the juice, and has it open with a quick turn of his wrist.

“Thank you,” I squeak. Then I take a sip, and it's cold, sweet nirvana. Seriously, it’s a miracle. Like I've never tasted juice before. I'm starved for it.

“There you go,” he says. Then he pulls a phone out of a pocket of his shorts and points it at me.

“Whoa!” I shield my face with one arm while the other holds my precious bottle of juice. “Do not take my picture.”

“But it's proof of life!” he insists, and I hear the shutter noise. “Maybe Weston will calm down if he sees you’re conscious. Seriously, that guy was freaked that you were sick.”

“Cooper!” I bark. “Do not send that to Weston.”

He chuckles. Then he tosses his phone down. “Fine, fine. But Weston loves you. I don’t see what's the big deal.”

I let out a sigh. Of course he doesn’t understand.

“Look—I’ve never seen Weston spend time with any girl but you. And I've really never seen him bolt out of the Biscuit like his ass was on fire like he did when he thought something happened to you.”

“Why did he think that?” I ask cautiously. After getting feverish the night before last, I’d holed up at home, dosing myself on NyQuil.

“Carly said she was worried about you. Apparently you didn’t turn up for work two nights in a row.”

“Two nights in a…” Horror dawns inside me. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

My heart stops. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah, you slept for three days.”

“Oh my GOD! ”

“You mentioned that.”

“You don’t understand!” I shriek. “I’m going to get fired. I won’t get my bonus.” The juice bottle wobbles in my hand.

He takes it from me. “Breathe, Abbi. They’ll understand. ”

“They won’t.”

“How about some food?” Cooper’s phone dings. He picks it up and reads a message. “Weston said practice is over. He’ll be here in an hour.”

“I need a shower.”

Cooper frowns. “That’s not on the list of things that Weston said you could have.”

“Are you kidding me?” I sputter. “If I want a shower, I’ll take a shower!”

“Sure, sure,” he says, setting the juice bottle down and then heaving himself up. “I’ll be over at your desk, facing the other way.”

“You could just leave,” I point out.

“No can do,” he says, picking up his crutches again. “Weston wants me to stay, so I stay.”

I let out a groan. I don’t understand why Weston is calling the shots. He probably feels really guilty. I told him we should end things, and then I got the flu. It’s just a coincidence, but the man took it personally for some reason. So I need a new plan.

Step one: Shower so I don’t look like a leper.

Step two: Thank him for the juice and send him home.

Step three: Go straight to the Biscuit and beg Kippy for patience. Cry, if necessary.

It’s not like I don’t feel weepy when I think of my annual bonus snatched away from me.

Showering takes all my strength. After I manage to shampoo and dress in clean clothes, I want to curl up in a ball and sleep for another three days. But I won’t let Weston see me look defeated. So I wrestle the sheets off the bed and stuff them into the hamper.

Remaking the bed feels like a marathon, though, and Cooper takes pity on me and helps.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “But you’re awfully good at hospital corners.”

He just shrugs. “Are you going to dry that hair? Weston will yell at me if he thinks you look cold. ”

“Oh for God’s sake!” I hobble back into the bathroom and spend a few tiring minutes with the blow dryer. Then I brush my teeth. That done, I throw my clean self on the clean bed and moan, because my heart is pounding like I just ran a marathon.

“Aren’t you the picture of health,” Cooper says. “Maybe this will help?” He’s inched his way toward me with a bowl of soup in one hand and a crutch under the other arm.

“You really don’t have to wait on me,” I say, grabbing the bowl as it wobbles. “That’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, because you look so competent yourself.” He chuckles. “Eat the soup, Abbi. Why do you hate getting help?”

“I don’t,” I snap, but it’s only half true. Help is wonderful. But you should never get too used to it. I look down at the bowl. It’s full of steaming chicken noodle. “Thank you,” I manage.

“Don’t mention it.” He pulls a spoon out of his pocket. “Mind if I have some, too? There’s more.”

“Of course not. Dig in.”

“Just don’t tell Weston,” he says.

“I won’t. Cross my heart.”

The floppy-haired surfer boy gives me a smile and crutches back to my kitchen.

After we manage to get the dishes cleared, it's time to face another problem. I locate my phone on the floor under the bed, and warily unlock it.

I find a couple of missed calls from Weston, of course, and some text messages asking me to call him. But the most frantic messages on my phone are from Carly. Where are you? What's wrong? Kippy is so mad! Call me.

Oh boy. That can’t be good.

I’m terrified to open my email. The first thing I spot is a polite message from Taft at Vermont Tartan, asking if I've had a chance to make a decision about the job. Then there's a follow-up message explaining that he’d heard from Dalton that I was ill, and to take my time .

Then, in a complete study of contrasts, I find a pissed-off email from Kippy at the Biscuit. Abbi, this is unacceptable. Two shifts blown without a phone call? We have terminated your employment. Your last check will be issued within 10 days .

“Oh my God,” I breathe. Then I let out a tortured groan.

That's when the door pops open and Weston enters carrying my keys. “What's the matter? Why is Abbi moaning? Cooper, what have you done? ”

“Calm down, Westie,” I say, dropping my phone onto the bed. “I was groaning at an email.”

Weston stalks over to me, setting my keys on the night stand, and sitting on the edge of the bed. His beautiful eyes find and hold my gaze. “Cooper, you're dismissed,” he says without even a glance at his teammate.

“Yes, sir.” Cooper chuckles. Then he rises, grabs his crutches and heads carefully toward the door.

“Thanks for the, um, help,” I manage.

He flashes me a quick smile before he disappears.

Even after the door shuts, Weston continues to stare at me with clear, serious eyes. “How are you feeling?” he whispers, taking both my hands in his.

I don’t know what to do with that penetrating gaze, and it rattles me. “I’m, uh, doing fine. Nothing to see here. Thanks.”

Awkward much? Yikes.

Nonetheless, Weston leans in and gently kisses me on the forehead. His lips linger, and I stop breathing. “Don't think you're feverish anymore.”

“Right. Yep.”

Next, the soft brush of his kiss lands on my nose. And this bit of tenderness makes my eyes feel hot, and my chest ache with a sudden pang of longing.

“Abbi,” he says gently. “I’m sorry I was a dick.”

“It's nothing,” I insist. “I get it.”

He shakes his head once. “No, I don't think you do. You mean a lot to me. I was afraid to say so before.”

Oh boy. “Weston, I'm really fine. Don’t feel bad for me. There’s no tragedy here. Everybody gets sick.”

“Yeah, but everybody isn't you.” He swallows roughly, still gazing into my eyes. “I realized something this week, Abbi.”

“What’s that?” I ask, trying not to fidget. All this attention is uncomfortable for me. I know I’m pale and have bags under my eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Wait, what?

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I’m sorry I had so much trouble admitting it. I tried really hard to keep things casual, but I failed. And when Carly told me you didn’t show up for work, I finally understood how much I need you.”

“Weston,” I breathe. “I’m sorry for the drama. But just because you got worried for a minute doesn’t mean you—” I almost can’t even say it out loud, because I want so badly for it to be true. “Love me.”

“Oh, it does,” he says with a bashful smile. “I’m the one who said we should just be friends who also have sex. But now I can’t remember what that even means. When you’re really close friends, and you also have really hot sex, that only adds up to one thing. At least for me, anyway. It means you’re my person, Abbi. And I want to keep being friends and keep having gratuitous amounts of sex for years to come.”

We’re just staring at each other now, and I might be in shock. “Gratuitous amounts?” I repeat nonsensically.

“Well, yeah.” Then Weston wiggles his eyebrows. Because he’s Weston, and he’s fun even when he’s being serious.

A weird half-giggle escapes my throat before I choke it back. Then my eyes fill. “I could, um, get behind this idea.”

“Could you please?” he whispers.

“Y-yes,” I say shakily. Although I have to wonder if my fever has caused some kind of delirium. If I wake up and realize that Weston didn’t actually just say all those wonderful things, I’m going to be inconsolable. But just in case this is actually happening, I’d better tell him how I feel. “I love you so much,” I gasp. “I tried not to.”

“Same, same.” He smiles, and pulls me into his arms. I rest my cheek against his flannel shirt. “So this all worked out just like we planned, no?”

“No,” I agree, and he laughs. I hear it in stereo as I burrow a little further into him.

“I fought it hard,” he whispers, “because I didn’t think I was good enough for you.”

“What?” I yelp. “You’re the best man I know.”

He shrugs, then kisses the top of my head. “But you deserve the best, Abbi. I thought you deserved someone who wasn’t all twisted up after watching his parents betray each other. I thought you needed a pro-level boyfriend.”

“But you are,” I insist.

“Nah. Those don’t exist. There’s only flawed guys who try hard. That’s me. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“You’ll come to my sister’s wedding with me. If you’re going to be my real girlfriend now, I need a date to this thing. And not just because you have a way with my dad. I’m in it for the arm candy.” His smile is incandescent.

My heart flutters. “Sure,” I say easily. “I’d love to come, although I think your dad will be okay this time. And Weston?”

“Yeah?”

“Just for the record, I don’t find either of your siblings the least bit attractive.”

“Good to know,” he says, rocking me against his sturdy chest. “Good to know.”