CHAPTER 17
Asher
For ages, men have gone to great lengths to get laid. They’ve acted outrageously when the sex is good, buying their women extravagant gifts and whispering poetic words of love.
Me?
I apparently cut short my Friday meeting on the East Coast to fly back to Vegas to see Hannah. I’m making my way to her house straight from the airport, wondering if it’s “too late” to stop by unannounced.
I don’t really care, though. It’s been a month since we’ve started this arrangement. Rather than getting bored, I’m wanting her even more. It doesn’t help that I’ve been without her for three nights. Jacking off just hasn’t cut it for me.
When I pull up to the curb in front of her house, I’m relieved to see her living room light on. It’s getting close to midnight. I’d realized there was a good chance she’d be asleep by now. I have no clue whether I’d still go up to her house if it was dark, knowing damn well it would be rude, but that’s not something I have to worry about. She’s clearly up.
I get out of my car, lock it, and don’t think about it again. I’ve given up being worried about my car in this neighborhood, figuring the benefits of being with Hannah far outweigh the cons of having my car vandalized.
I bound up the porch steps, pull her screen door open, and knock lightly. From inside, the sound of the TV can faintly be heard. After only a few moments, the door opens.
And Christ… she looks… just awful.
Hannah is wrapped up in a big fleece robe. Her hair is a stringy mess, there are dark circles under her eyes, and her nose is beet red. She’s holding a wad of tissues in one hand, the other clutching her robe as if she’s trying to leech warmth from it.
“Hey,” she says, her voice sounding like a frog’s croak.
“Jesus, Hannah,” I say as I push inside. When she backpedals, I close the door, engaging the lock. “What’s wrong with you?”
She waves the hand with the tissues as if nothing’s wrong with her, then she croaks, “Oh… just a cold or something. I thought I’d be over it by now.”
“You’ve been sick all week?” I ask as she shuffles back to the couch. There’s a pillow, two blankets she must have been laying under, and entire coffee table overflowing with cold medicines.
“What’s today? Friday?”
What the fuck? She doesn’t know what day it is? “It’s Friday night. Have you been working at my house all week while I’ve been gone?”
Hannah crawls back under the blankets on her couch, lying on her side to face me. She dabs at her nose with her tissues. “Of course I’ve been working. It’s my job.”
Rolling my eyes, I squat beside the couch. I touch the back of my hand to her forehead, finding it warm and clammy. “Have you been running a fever?”
“On and off,” she replies as she nods to the coffee table. “Been taking Tylenol. It’s been working mostly.”
“I should probably take you to the doctor,” I say. She looks like fucking death warmed over.
Hannah shakes her head. “I’m fine. It’s just a cold. I’m sure I’ll feel better by tomorrow.”
“And you got your medical degree where?” I ask sarcastically.
She smirks, but I see the tiny shudder pass through her, which means she has a chill. “Unfortunately, I’ve been around the block a few times. My immune system isn’t the greatest, so I tend to get a few bad colds a year. I probably picked it up from Hope. Kids spread all kinds of nasty germs from school.”
She’s probably right. I’m sure she knows her own body better than I do.
In some respects, at least. I guarantee I know the area between her legs way better than she ever could.
I should go. She needs rest, and I’m not exactly the maternal caring type. Whenever Michelle was sick, she’d always shoo me away. I’d always been grateful to take the escape.
Still, I find myself asking, “When’s the last time you ate? And are you dehydrated?”
Hannah shrugs. “I’ve been drinking some tea.”
“Jesus,” I mutter as I stand up. “Think you have anything here I can make that you could stomach? Or I can go out for something.”
“I’m sure I have some soup in my pantry,” she answers through what sounds like a rock quarry in the base of her throat.
“I’ll be back.” I pivot toward her tiny kitchen that’s separated from her equally tiny living room by a counter.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and I look over my shoulder at her. She tries to grin, but it comes off as a pathetic grimace. “You’re not getting sex tonight.”
“As if I’d fuck you looking like that,” I retort with an evil smile. She laughs, or at least tries to, but it just sounds as if it hurts.
She’s silent as I make my way through her kitchen. I find a can of alphabet soup in the pantry. Not bothering with a saucepan, I instead heat it up in her microwave after finding her bowls. I nab a spoon, some paper towels, and a bottle of water from her fridge, bringing them back into the living room. Eyeballing the coffee table, I find a spot to deposit the soup and glance over at Hannah.
Her eyes are closed, mouth parted slightly. I don’t hesitate to lean over her, putting my hand to her shoulder for a gentle shake. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You need to eat, then you can go back to sleep.”
Hannah’s eyes slowly open, and she seems confused for a minute. Pulling back the covers, I help her sit up on the edge of the couch before moving the coffee table a little closer to her.
“You good?” I ask as she takes the spoon in hand and hunches over the bowl.
“Yeah,” she croaks, dipping the spoon into the bowl. “Thanks.”
Taking a seat on a chair she has opposite the couch, I watch as she takes a hesitant sip. I can tell it’s painful for her to swallow, and I’m thinking she should really let me take her to the doctor.
Hannah sort of freezes with the spoon halfway back to the bowl, looking at me curiously. “You can leave. You don’t need to stay.”
I should take the opportunity she’s presenting me and hightail it out of here. I’m sure as shit not getting laid.
Instead, I glare at her. “Shut up and eat.”
Hannah shrugs, then takes another delicate sip of soup. I watch her in silence as she eats, not wanting to dissuade her with conversation.
She manages to eat half the bowl before pushing it away, and I nod toward the water. “Drink up.”
I get an eyeroll, but she uncaps the bottle and takes a few sips before settling back onto the couch. She folds her legs Indian-style, pulls the blanket over her lap, and asks pointedly, “Why are you here? You should be in Florida.”
My shrug is casual. “Meetings got done early so I headed back.”
“I guess I should feel flattered you came by then,” she says, then has a coughing fit that concerns me. I start to rise from my chair, but she waves me back down.
After another sip of water, she gives me a lukewarm smile. “I’m fine. And seriously… you should go home.”
I ignore her. “If you’re not better in the morning, you need to see a doctor.”
I think she may argue, because she’s got that stubborn little set to her jaw that turns me on when I see it. But then she just flops over on her side with a sigh of resignation as she pulls the covers over her shoulders. “Fine.”
“Why don’t we put you in bed?” I suggest as I stand up from the chair.
Groaning, she starts to push off the couch. “I have to change the sheets. I moved out here a few hours ago because I was sweating so badly.”
I hold a hand up. “Lay back down. I’ll handle it.”
I have no clue where this instinct to step in and handle her comes from, but I go with it. After Hannah tells me where her sheets are, I manage to get the linens changed. Admittedly, it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve done something like this myself. I’ve always had the maids do it.
When I’m done, I come back out to the living room to find her dozing. I shake her awake, then help her stand up. She’s a little wobbly so I keep ahold of her as we walk down the hallway.
“I’d kill for a shower,” she grumbles. “I bet I smell like a dirty sock or something.”
“I’ll help you take one,” I offer. I’d prefer she take a bath because she can barely stand up, but her little hovel of a house only has a small standup shower. I can squeeze in with her to hold her up, and I know this because I managed to fuck her in it last week.
It takes a good half hour to manage her shower. I’m proud of myself that I didn’t even get hard while standing in there with her naked. I can’t say it was because she was sick and ragged looking, because truly… even on her worst day, Hannah is hot as hell. But the entire experience wasn’t appealing to my sexual nature at all. Instead, I found a small measure of enjoyment in helping her wash her hair and body, while also keeping my arm around her for support.
I feel… accomplished, and it’s more than surprising to me that I like that feeling.
After her shower, she lets me dry her hair while she sits on the edge of her bed and then I dress her in a pair of her pajamas.
She’s yawning heavily by the time I’m tucking her in.
“Thanks for coming by,” she says quietly, then tries to level a joke my way. “I’ll see you on Monday if I don’t die before then.”
“You’re adorable. But I’m staying the night to see how you are in the morning. If you’re not better, I’m taking you to the doctor.”
She watches as I round the bed to climb in on the other side. I’d not bothered getting dressed again after the shower other than putting on my briefs. I’d normally take them off, but why bother? Sex isn’t on the table tonight or in the morning.
When I’m settled in beside her, she reaches over and turns off her bedside light, casting the room into darkness. I can feel her shift, turning on her side to face me, which is how we go to sleep together.
“Thanks again,” she says.
“No problem,” I say, reaching blindly across the bed to touch her face. It’s cooler, which is reassuring.
There’s silence as I withdraw, so I close my eyes to go to sleep.
♦
Awakening the next morning to an empty bed, I roll off the mattress and head to the bathroom for a morning piss before finding Hannah in the kitchen.
She’s sitting at the two-person table with a cup of tea in front of her, surfing her phone. There’s an empty plate with breadcrumbs on it. I’m assuming it held toast.
“How do you feel?” I ask as I walk toward her. Reaching out, I touch her forehead and find it to be completely cool. Her eyes seem a little brighter this morning as well.
“Much better,” she says, her voice still coarse but stronger sounding. “I’m going to pick up Hope around noon.”
“That’s great,” I reply, moving over to her Keurig. Hannah is a coffee drinker like me, so the fact she’s drinking tea tells me she’s still a little shaky. But since she’s cool to the touch and determined to see her daughter today—which is no surprise at all—I don’t feel the need to badger her to go to the doctor.
I make a cup of coffee and take it back to the table, sitting in the chair across from her. Stretching my legs out, I brush up against hers, marveling at how good she feels just from that simple touch. I’m in no way thinking about sex with her, but fuck if just our legs touching isn’t like grabbing hold of a live wire.
I take a sip of my coffee and set the cup down. “Listen… I talked to my lawyer about your situation with Hope.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening with interest as she leans forward, crossing her arms on the table. I can tell she completely forgot about it.
“My attorney will jump right on this. File a motion Monday morning.”
“But I already have an attorney,” she points out.
“One who won’t return your calls,” I counter. “I guarantee you that my attorney will call you back the same day if you have a question.”
And I know that because he knows I’d fire his ass if he didn’t.
“But I already paid a five-thousand-dollar retainer to the other attorney.”
“You can get that back, Hannah.”
She chews on her lower lip. It makes me want to kiss her. I wonder if she’s contagious.
Her tone is still dubious. “But my attorney said I need a longer work history to show the court I’m stable.”
“My attorney says not to worry about that at all,” I tell her.
Which is sort of true, but sort of not true. He said work history is important, and he readily accepted it as the truth when I told him Hannah had been working for me for three months as an executive assistant.
I’m struck almost stupid when she levels a blinding smile at me, and I realize I’ve never seen her this genuinely excited about something before. “Okay… I’ll use your attorney. And I’ve still got most of the bonus you gave me, which I can use to pay him.”
“Don’t worry about that.” I wave my hand. “He’s on a permanent retainer with me so he can jump on this Monday. You and I will settle later. Besides… I’d rather you take that money and move into a safer neighborhood.”
“If I get Hope back,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping to her cup of tea.
“You will,” I say confidently. My attorney truly did feel good about this case after he’d had a chance to investigate it this week. He looked up the file at the courthouse, and he’s of the belief Hannah totally got cooked by the judge because of his friendship with her ex.
“Thank you,” Hannah says with a smile, bumping her leg against mine. “I hate to say it, but breaking that Chihuly vase of yours changed my life for the better.”
It’s a sweet sentiment, and one that wouldn’t normally affect me.
But it does now, in the most uncomfortable of ways, and all I can think is that my life has changed, too.