15

   

I feel like crap. 

And I’m normally the type to suck it up and deal with illnesses, push through the pain. 

But when I woke up this morning feeling like complete and total death, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not when my lungs felt like I’d spent the night chain-smoking a pack of cigarettes, and the pounding in my head rivaled that of a rock concert. 

This cold is no joke. 

Every year when Fall approaches, I find myself stuffed up, light headed, and hacking up a lung. 

It’s become a sort of annual tradition for me, like celebrating Christmas. Only instead of stocking stuffers and gingerbread cookies, I get runny noses and sore throats. 

Really great stuff. 

I skipped all my lectures today and spent the morning sending out frantic texts to my study buddies in each class, trying to sweet talk them into taking notes for me. 

Luckily, they’re all the nicest people ever, so I’m currently lounging on my bed opening their emails and note documents. I don’t plan on studying much tonight, though, so a quick skim is all I plan to do for now. A little R&R is the only thing on my agenda for the evening. 

I’m almost through looking over the last page of notes when something on the TV catches my eye. I’ve been watching the Giants vs. Eagles, but it’s not the game that distracts me from my note-skimming. What grabs my attention is a commercial for a sports drink featuring a dark-haired guy dribbling a soccer ball. 

Crap. 

Crapcrapcrap.

I totally forgot I made plans with Vaughn to do a short interview tonight after his practice. Plans I’m now going to have to cancel thanks to my foggy head. 

I glance at the time. 9:07 pm. I’m supposed to be at the Treehouse in eight minutes. 

I feel guilty canceling last minute like this, but after all the trouble he put me through to get the first interview, he deserves to be on the receiving end for once. 

It’s only fair.

I reach for my phone and call him. He answers after a few rings. 

“Hey, you on your way over?” His deep, familiar voice echoes over the speaker. “I’ve got the house all to myself tonight, so no distractions. I’ll be on my best behavior, too. Fully clothed.” 

The guilty feeling rushes back. “Don’t kill me, but I’m not going to be able to make it. I have a cold, I’m gross, and my nose is running like a faucet.” 

He lets out an amused snorting sound. “Could’ve done without the visual, but it’s all good. Don’t sweat it.”

“Sorry, but it’s not cute. I look like I’ve been hit by a bus.” 

He pauses for a second. “I guess you want a Rayne check, huh?” His voice is riddled with laughter at his own joke. 

I groan. “Clever, Steel.”

“You feeling under the weather, Raynie?” 

“Weather puns. So original. I’ve never heard those before.” 

But I have to admit, I’m totally grinning. Good thing he can’t see me. He’d be loving that I’m entertained by his cheesy jokes. 

“Are you contagious or anything? How bad do you feel?” 

“I don’t think so. And I feel way better than I did earlier today. Still, it’s probably a good idea if I chill on the couch all night.”

“Understood. Rest up and feel better. We’ll reschedule.” 

We say our goodbyes, and I shoot a quick text to Lexie asking where she is, hoping she’s on her way home so I have someone to keep me company in front of the TV. 

My phone beeps a few moments later with her response. 

Lexie: Sry, babe. Drowning @ a study sesh. Won’t be back til late. Feel better & I’ll make you some homemade chicken noodle soup tomorrow! Gotta get you better for your 21st<3 

I toss my phone to the side, slightly disappointed. The thought of her Grandmother’s chicken soup recipe reminds me I haven’t eaten dinner yet. 

Hell, I think I missed lunch, too.

When you forgot to eat your daily meals? 

Yeah, that’s when you know you’re truly sick.

I open my laptop and order pizza from the local place down the street. 

While I wait, I draw a bath, tossing in a multicolored, sinus-clearing bath bomb I stole from my mom. The thing must be magic because after a ten-minute soak in the tub, my head feels a million times better and I can breathe through my nose again. 

I wash my face before throwing on my favorite comfy pajamas: an oversized t-shirt with a pug on it, a pair of teeny, black boy-shorts, and fuzzy, purple socks. I head into the living room to browse through Netflix, hoping there’s something on there to keep me occupied for the night. 

Right as I’m about to begin my search, I hear a knock at the front door. 

I open it up, expecting someone in a Patty’s Pizza uniform. I gasp in shock when I see Vaughn standing there, a reusable grocery bag in his hand. 

I speak before I can reasonably assess what I’m saying. “You deliver pizza?” 

He scratches the back of his neck, an intrigued smile tugging at his lips. “Uh, nope. No pizza on me. Sorry to disappoint.” 

“What are you doing here?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice. 

“I know you said you’re sick and hanging here tonight, but I wanted to bring you something to make you feel better. I’ll just drop it off and leave you to your resting.” He gestures to his full bag. 

I step to the side and wave him in. “You can come inside.”

He walks past, towering over me. I feel somewhat embarrassed in my giant, raggedy shirt, my makeup-free face, and my hair still wet from the tub, but I brush the thoughts aside. 

I'm sick, dammit. Of course I look like shit. 

“Nice place,” Vaughn comments as he peers around the living room. 

“Thanks,” I reply before pointing to his mystery bag. “Whatcha got?” 

He grins and flips the bag upside down, dumping its components all over my couch. The items spill everywhere, more than a few falling to the floor with a loud crash. 

I scrunch my nose. “What the hell, Steel! I wouldn’t have let you inside if I knew you were going to trash my apartment!” 

He laughs sheepishly. “My bad.” 

He leans over and scoops up the fallen items, placing them with the others and squishing them into a big pile on the couch cushions. 

“Okay, so this”—he sweeps a hand proudly over the pile—“is called the Steel Sick Sack.” 

“Steel Sick Sack?” A muffled giggle escapes my lips. “Sounds kinda gross to be honest.” 

He flashes his perfect teeth at me and lifts his hands in innocence. “Hey, I didn’t coin the term. My sister did, actually.” His smile fades slightly as he goes on. 

“When we were younger, we’d visit my grandparents every winter break for a few weeks. Both of us would always catch a cold when we were there. Every single time without fail.” 

He sits on the couch and pauses, deep in thought. This is the first time he’s ever mentioned his family—usually avoiding the topic at all costs—so I stand quietly, waiting until he’s ready to go on. After a quick moment, he continues. 

“One year, they handed us each a bag the moment we stepped through the door. We opened them up, and inside was basically a cold’s worst nightmare: meds, tissues, you name it. My sister aptly dubbed it the Steel Sick Sack and the name stuck. These things were freaking lifesavers. No sickness stands a chance with one of these bad boys.” 

He tousles his thick hair and gives me a modest shrug. “I figured you could use one.”

I smile graciously. “That’s really nice of you, Steel. Color me shocked.”

“Plus,” he adds with an impish smirk, “I thought this would be the perfect anecdote when you mention my kind and thoughtful nature in your article.”

I grab a couch pillow and gently whack him with it. “How did I know there would be a selfish motive behind this?” 

He starts showing me all the items he got, from those fancy tissues infused with lotion to what seems like every medication from the cold and flu aisle. 

“Holy cow, did they have to close the pharmacy after you got through?” I tease him, but inside I’m extremely impressed. 

Vaughn Steel, a caretaker? Definitely wasn’t something I was expecting from him. To say I’m pleasantly surprised is an understatement.

“Seriously, this is great. I really appreciate it. Thank you.” 

He raises his shoulders as if it’s no big deal. 

We both grab one of the immune-boosting drinks he brought. Before we can twist the tops off, a loud knock at the door startles us. 

“Oh! Pizza!” I squeal out, rushing to the door. 

I pay and thank the pizza boy, balancing the giant cardboard boxes in my arms as I gently kick the front door shut. 

I turn to an obviously amused Vaughn. 

“Damn, Raynie. Two large pizzas for one small girl?”

“I haven’t eaten anything all day!” I protest. My stomach rumbles to prove my point and he chuckles, reaching out to take the pizzas from my hands. 

I follow him into the kitchen. Before I can stop him, he’s opening one of the boxes and inspecting the pizza inside. 

“What the fuck, Rayne? Pineapple and ham?” He shakes his head in utter disgust. “You know the quickest way to ruin a pizza? Put fruit on it.”

I cross my arms in defense. “No way. Pineapple is the perfect addition to a pizza. It’s all about balance. It’s the sweet to the savory.”

“Disagree. Dinner is savory. Dessert is sweet. Pizza is dinner, not dessert, and therefore nothing sweet should ever be on a pizza.” 

He sounds so absolute in his reasoning I crack up. “That sounds like an argument my brother would use on his middle school debate team.”

He narrows his eyes at me playfully. “Are you saying I have the mental capacity of a teenager?”

“Not at all.” I shrug, trying to hide a smile. “That would be a generous assumption.” 

“Jesus, you’re extra sassy tonight, huh?” He eyes the unopened box. “Let’s see what else you got. I swear, if this is one of those cinnamon chocolate pizzas…” 

He pops opens the top and a look of satisfaction sweeps across his face. 

“See, now that’s what I’m fucking talking about. Meat Lovers: the perfect balance of savory to savory.” 

I walk over to the pantry and grab a paper plate, flinging it like a frisbee in his direction. He catches it with one hand. “Have some!”

“You sure? I was thinking you’d finish both of these off within twenty minutes.” 

“Very funny. Really, have a few pieces. I’ll eat the horrid pineapple one, and you can have some of the ‘good’ one.” 

After stacking a few slices on our plates, we head over to the kitchen table. We eat in silence for a few minutes, both savoring our pizza. 

I sneak a glance at Vaughn, once again surprised that he’s actually here. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past month, but this is different. It’s one thing to get together for interviews or chat at the couple of random encounters we’ve had at Café Cappuccino and Más Mantequilla, but something about him being in my apartment feels way more personal.  

And if someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be voluntarily spending time with him without working on the piece, the two of us just hanging out alone? Eating pizza together in my kitchen? I would’ve laughed straight in their face. 

But here I am, thoroughly enjoying his company. 

So. Damn. Strange.

He catches me staring and stops mid-bite, setting his pizza down before leaning back in his chair. A half-smile appears on his face. “You lied to me.”

“About what?” 

I don’t know what the heck he’s referring to. 

“You said you looked like you got hit by a bus.” He gives me a once over, eyes traveling from my fuzzy socks up to my bare face where they linger. His expression suddenly grows serious, eyes blazing with an unrecognizable heat. “I think you look beautiful.”

I choke on the bite of pizza in my mouth, my skin immediatly flushing with warmth. 

It’s not the first time Vaughn’s made a comment on my appearance, but usually it’s in a teasing, light-hearted manner, as if he’s just trying to get a reaction out of me. 

But nothing about the way he said that was teasing.

After coughing for what seems like forever, I finally catch my breath. 

“I’ll be sure to make a note that giant dog shirts and frizzy hair are on your list of turn-ons,” I say hoarsely, trying to steer the conversation back to our routine banter. 

It seems to work. His usual joking demeanor returns and he winks. “I like what I like. What can I say?” 

We finish up our slices before he speaks again. 

“So, how many siblings do you have? I’ve heard you mention little brothers a few times now.” 

“Oh, because I can’t interview you tonight, you’re going to interview me?”

He cocks a dark brow. “It’s called conversation, Raynie. I know it may be hard for your reporter brain to understand, but normal humans ask each other questions with the intentions of getting to know one another. No voice recorder necessary.” 

I cringe. “Sorry, that was bitchy. I have two brothers. Stone is the one I mentioned earlier. He’s in 6th grade, obsessed with soccer, and just turned eleven. The other one is six and the shy one of the family. His name’s Cedar.” 

Vaughn’s burst of laughter fills the room. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you guys have the weirdest fucking names I’ve ever heard. Rayne, Stone, and Cedar? Sounds like a damn ecosystem. Holy shit.” 

I crack a wide smile because there’s no argument there. “My mom’s a little… eccentric.” 

“I’ll say.” He takes a gulp of his drink. “Your brothers are a lot younger than you.”

I nod. “Yeah, my parents had me pretty young. They were high school sweethearts and got pregnant with me their senior year. I was born exactly four months after their high school graduation, actually. Definitely a surprise baby.” 

I wasn’t planning on elaborating, but his interested expression encourages me to go on. 

“My dad was all set to go play minor league baseball, but he gave that up to get a job and support the family. They struggled a lot, financially. Emotionally, too. Having a baby at eighteen is difficult, and neither of their parents were very supportive. I remember us living in this tiny, rundown studio apartment in a bad part of town when I was young. It was all they could afford at the time, but they worked their asses off to get us out of there. The year I turned nine, we moved to Hillcrest and life was a lot easier. They were finally stable enough to grow our family, and Stone was born soon after that.”

It feels strange, opening up to him about my family history, but there’s something about the way his big, blue eyes are boring into mine that has me spilling my guts. 

“I know it’s completely stupid, but I feel really guilty for all the shit my parents had to go through, like I messed up their lives in a way.” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Which is just so ridiculous because my parents are amazing. They’ve never done or said anything to evoke those feelings, but I can’t help it.” 

I fiddle with the cap of my drink anxiously. “I think that’s why I’m so hard on myself, why my future is so important to me. I need to make something of myself to show them all their sacrifices and struggles were worth it. I want to make them proud.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, keeping my eyes down as I realize how incredibly awkward I’m making this. What the hell is that immune-booster laced with? I’ve never told anyone that vulnerable confession before. Vaughn’s probably confused as hell at his simple observation turning into an impromptu therapy session.

But when I raise my head, he’s still gazing at me, his features filled with warmth and compassion. “Rayne, believe me. I don’t even know your parents, but I can promise they’re already proud. You’re one of the most dedicated, hard-working people I’ve ever met. I’m positive they’re proud of you.”

Almost immediately I feel better, his earnest words setting me at ease. “Thanks, Vaughn.”

His eyebrows shoot up in awe. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. Did you just call me Vaughn?”

“Uh, yeah?” I frown, confused at his reaction. “That’s your name?” 

“Does this mean I’ve finally moved on from douchebag status? Are we officially friends now?”  

I backtrack quickly. “No, no. That was a mistake, Steel.” 

One corner of his mouth curls up in a cocky smirk. “Too late. You can’t take it back. We are totally friends.” 

I don’t provide him with the satisfaction of a reply, but the giant grin I can’t stop from spreading across my face lets him know he’s right. 

I point to his empty plate. “You want some more?”

He rubs his stomach. “I’m stuffed, but thanks. In fact, I should probably get going so you can get some rest. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” 

He grabs both of our empty plates and heads into the kitchen to throw them away. I follow behind, realizing I don’t want him to leave quite yet. 

“I was going to pop a decongestant and watch some Netflix. You can stay if you want. I’ll even let you pick the movie. Your presence won’t stop me from resting.” 

I prepare myself for some outdated Netflix-and-chill comment, but instead he appears genuinely happy I extended the invitation. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

We go into the living room and stuff all of the items back into the Steel Sick Sack. Vaughn takes a seat on the far right side of the couch, and I hug the armrest on the far left. He tilts his head at me, mirroring the pug on my shirt, and frowns. 

“I don’t bite, Raynie.” 

I pick at my thumbnail nervously, suddenly conscious of the fact that I’m wearing underwear and a thin t-shirt and that’s it. And even though we’ve just established that we’re only friends, I don’t know if I want to cuddle up next to him in my practically-naked state. 

“I don’t want to get you sick,” I say, coming up with an excuse to keep my distance. I sniffle for emphasis.

“My immune system can handle your weak germs, babe. I’ll be fine.” 

I slant my head. “Didn’t you literally just tell me how you used to get sick all the time?” 

He laughs. “That was when I was a boy. I’m a man, now.” He puffs out his chest for dramatic effect before patting the seat cushion next to him. “Seriously, you’re making me feel like I have a flesh-eating bacterial disease or something. Come sit.”

I roll my eyes but obey and scoot over to the middle cushion, holding onto the hem of my shirt so it doesn’t ride up. 

“Satisfied?” I ask sarcastically.

“Yup.” He smiles and leans forward to grab the remote and begin the search. “Lame. Boring. Already seen.” He scrolls through movie after movie until he finally comes to a decision.

He flops back down against the couch, getting comfy as he casually points the remote to the screen. “We’re watching this.” 

When I see the familiar title, I burst out laughing. 

“The Notebook? You want to watch The Notebook?” 

His serious expression doesn’t falter. “What? I’ve never seen it. And I’m sure as hell not going to watch it by myself. This is the perfect situation.”

“Why? Because you can claim I forced you to watch it if anyone finds out?”

He points a finger at me and makes an affirmative clicking sound with his tongue. “You catch on quick, Raynie.”

I swat him on the arm. “Is your masculinity so fragile you can’t even admit to watching romance movies?”

“Hey, no insulting my masculinity or I’m going to have a pick out a new movie, one with a shitload of gore and violence to make myself feel better.” 

I snatch the remote out of his hand and hit play. “Nope. You’re about twelve years too late, but it’s time to pop your Notebook cherry.” 

Over the next hour, I spend more time watching Vaughn’s reactions than I do the screen. He’s absolutely eating this up, and it’s beyond hilarious watching how invested he is in Noah and Allie’s relationship. 

It’s also a little bit cute. 

Okay, okay.

It’s really cute. 

Seeing this tough, sports star show off his sweet and sensitive side? 

Find me one girl on this planet who wouldn’t find that endearing. 

I try to stay up and finish the movie, but the meds starts taking effect, causing my eyelids to feel like heavy brick walls begging to come down. I fight it as long as I can, but I know it’s going end up a losing battle. 

I’m barely conscious when my head slowly slinks to the side, leaning onto Vaughn’s broad shoulder as I admit defeat to sleep.