Leah

 

As much as I want to kick Tucker in the balls for the stunt he pulled while I was volunteering, I have to let it go for the moment because he’s really sick. When we get home, he goes straight to his room.

I dig through the linen closet downstairs where he keeps most of his first aid supplies and am relieved to find some acetaminophen. It should at least bring down his fever. After grabbing a sports drink from the fridge, I run upstairs to his room.

He must’ve taken a quick shower because he’s standing in the middle of the room bare ass naked when I fling open the door. My feet are suddenly stuck in glue and my mouth pops open.

If seeing him without a shirt is amazing, then seeing him completely naked is a damned religious experience. Because I want to worship every inch of that tanned, damp skin. I’ve seen those luscious V marks on his hips before when he was shirtless, but his round, firm ass is new. So is the thick penis bobbing between his legs. God, I could look at him forever.

“Did the hours in the cold make your hand too numb to knock?” he demands, his voice strained.

The tiny smirk on his face betrays his feigned anger. Part of him is enjoying this.

My hand darts up to cover my eyes about two minutes too late, and I swear I hear a chuckle. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think…I was bringing you something for your fever.”

When I part my fingers for a peek I’m relieved and disappointed to find he’s put on a pair of boxer briefs. Crawling under the covers, he mumbles, “Thanks, but I’m okay. Just need a nap.”

“No, you need to take these and drink some of this before you dehydrate,” I insist, thrusting the bottle and pills at him.

Sighing, he replies. “If I do, will you go away and let me sleep?”

“Yep.”

“Fine.”

He swallows the pills and sips on the drink, placing it on his nightstand before crawling under his covers. “Thank you.”

“Get some sleep. Yell if you need me,” I tell him.

I grab my laptop and settle into the recliner in the living room, but I can’t focus enough to write. All I can think of is the way Tucker reacted today. I have enough problems with Derek trying to police my life. That’s a big reason I moved out here, to get away and have some independence.

My phone rings and I grin when I see the name that pops up. Ely Lindon is a young guy I met while volunteering. He’s an environmental activist who was locked up for destroying some heavy equipment that was being used to tear out a local park. His effort was a waste since the park was still paved over and made into a strip mall, and all he got out of it was thirty days in jail. He was released two weeks ago, but continues to volunteer with the recycling plant on his own time.

“Hey, Leah, I just wanted to check on you after that little…scene with your boyfriend today,” Ely says when I accept the call.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I reply automatically. “He’s my brother’s friend. I’m staying at his place for a while, but there’s nothing between us.” The words don’t sound right to me when I say them, maybe because I’d love for them to not be true.

“Oh…I’m glad to hear that.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me some time?”

Ely is near my age with a sweet smile and upbeat personality. He’s the type of guy I probably should be dating instead of drooling over the broody asshole that just embarrassed me in front of new friends.

“I’d love to,” I tell him.

“Great! Next Friday night?”

“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.” This will be my first date in quite a while, so I make a mental note to get my hair and nails done this week.

“Me too. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Ely.”

I look up to find Tucker standing at the bottom of the stairs looking like death times ten. “Hey.” I get to my feet. “What are you doing up?”

“Water,” he rasps.

Someone stop me from choking this man. “I told you to yell for me. Sit down.” His face is flushed and he seems really out of it. Not too out of it to ask, “Who is Ely?”

“A friend,” I reply. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

“No, it’s probably just a virus,” he grumbles, sitting at the kitchen table.

I hand him a glass of ice water and he peeks up at me. “So, you’d better stay back if you don’t want to catch it.”

“Please,” I scoff. “We live together. If I was going to catch it, I already would have. Besides, I never get sick. Now, go back to bed. You look like hell.”

He must feel terrible because he doesn’t argue, just makes his way back upstairs.

I spend the next few days writing and taking care of Tucker, well, as much as he’ll let me. By the middle of the week, he’s feeling better and at least getting out of bed to watch TV and eat the soup I made for him.

By Thursday night, he’s pretty much back to normal and he hasn’t forgotten the friend I mentioned. Ely calls me on Thursday, and I take my phone to my room to talk to him. He’s kind and funny, and I’m looking forward to our date the next night. I even went out and bought a new outfit. We’re just going to hear a local band play, so I opted for a pair of jeans that make my ass look good and a red blouse that shows a little cleavage.

After our phone conversation, I return to the kitchen to make dinner. A prickly sensation up my back makes me turn around to see Tucker watching me from the doorway. “I’m making chicken stew,” I tell him, assuming that’s what he’s trying to find out.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks, his face impassive.

“I have a date tomorrow night. Why?”

He remains silent for a few minutes. “Where do you know him from?” I don’t owe him any kind of explanation, but it’s easier than arguing. I feel really tired this evening and I’m looking forward to going to bed so I can be fresh and bright eyed tomorrow.

“He volunteers with me.” I shrug, turning back to stir the stew.

His jaw hardens. “Is he an inmate?”

He was for a brief time, but there’s no way I’m telling him that. He’d probably run to Derek and tattle. “No, he just cares about the environment.”

Tucker scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t you know when a guy is feeding you bullshit? I’m sure he loves puppies and cries at romantic movies as well.”

Now he’s pissing me off.

“As insane as it might seem to you, there are decent men out there who want to date me.” I turn off the burner under the bubbling pot of stew. “And it’s none of your damn business who I see. Maybe you need to get laid and quit worrying about me.”

Tossing the lid on the pot, I stalk off to my room. Suddenly, the thought of food isn’t appealing. I’m so exhausted I strip off my pants and bra and climb into bed without bothering to shower or brush my teeth.

The words I spit at Tucker come back to haunt me. The last thing I want is to have to listen to him fucking some skank so why did I say that? I know I’d be jealous even though I have no right to feel that way. Is that why he’s acting like a gigantic tool? Because I have a date?

No, he’s never tried anything with me. Most days he just tolerates me. My tired mind finally stops pondering everything and gives in to the demands of my exhausted body.

When I wake, I instantly know something is wrong. I fell asleep with my light on, which is out of the ordinary, not to mention it was way too early to go to bed. That’s probably why I feel out of sorts.

That idea is quickly squashed when I sit up and a wave of nausea washes over me.

Oh no.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time where I spend the next thirty minutes throwing up everything I’ve eaten since I was born. At least that’s how it feels. My stomach aches and my throat is sore.

A cool rag finds its way to the back of my neck and I look up to see Tucker standing over me with a glass of water. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He hands me a pain reliever and watches as I swallow it with a grimace. “Your throat will get better. Mine only hurt the first day,” he assures me.

Groaning, I turn over. “I have a date tomorrow night.”

“You mean tonight. It’s four in the morning. And Ely the environmentalist will just have to wait.”

Now that my stomach has settled a little, my eyes threaten to slam shut again. “I’ll call him later. I’m so tired.”

A cool palm sweeps the sweaty hair from my cheek. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better.”

My eyes flutter open a few hours later and while the nausea isn’t too bad, my bladder is screaming at me. I make a quick trip to the bathroom and swish some mouthwash around my mouth to get rid of the horrific taste.

My throat still burns and my stomach feels raw. It isn’t until I crawl back into bed that I realize Tucker is asleep on the other half. He stayed with me? Slept in my bed?

My tired brain can’t overthink it right now. I’m back to sleep as soon as I close my eyes. When I open them again, he’s gone and I wonder if I dreamed the whole thing. My phone is plugged into the charger on my nightstand where I left it, but it’s turned off. I never turn off my phone. What the hell?

My stomach gives a loud growl and while there’s no way I want to eat and chance puking again, I do need something to drink. I step out my door and right into a wall of muscle.

Tucker looks down at me. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better maybe. Thirsty.”

He hands me the glass of ice water in his hand and I down it. Water has never tasted so good. “Thanks.”

I notice he’s holding a bag in his other hand as he follows me back into my room. Reaching in, he produces a bottle of sports drink, tissues, a bag of suckers, and a pack of anti-diarrheal pills.

Chuckling, I hand the pills back. “I don’t have the shits.”

His eyes lock onto mine, amusement shining in them. “Trust me,” he says, handing them back.

“Great, there’s something to look forward to.” I pick up the suckers. “They make suckers to help a sore throat?”

Tucker shakes his head. “I don’t know if they work. I just asked the pharmacist for something.”

He went to the drugstore for me.

“Thanks,” I reply, grabbing a cherry sucker and tearing off the wrapping. At least I can get the taste of death out of my mouth. “Did you turn my phone off?”

“Yes, it kept beeping and I didn’t want it to wake you.”

Shit. Ely. I grab my phone and wait for it to power on. “What time is it?”

“Just past five.”

I have two missed texts from Ely telling me how much he’s looking forward to tonight and that he’ll pick me up at eight. With a sigh, I send him a text explaining I have a stomach virus and apologizing. I get a text back in seconds.

 

Ely: Don’t be sorry. I hope you feel better. Raincheck?

 

Me: Definitely. I’ll call you when I’m better.

 

Tucker sits on my bed, his legs stretched out in front of him. “So, do you feel up to watching a movie?”

Tucker hangs out with me most of the night, until I insist he go to bed. When I wake the next morning, he’s standing in my doorway. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I reply, stretching. “I think I’ll lie in the tub a while.”

He looks torn as he asks, “Do you think you’ll be okay by yourself today?”

It’s then I realize. It’s Saturday. “Yep. I’m good. Go do your top secret Saturday stuff.”

His look says he isn’t amused. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for helping me, but I’m good.”

After a brief pause, he gives me a terse nod and leaves. I’d love to know where he goes every Saturday, but just like him trying to snoop into my dating life, I realize it’s none of my business.

After a few days, I’m feeling back to normal. Ely calls and asks if I’d like to go out on Wednesday night. There’s a band playing at a local bar and since it’s the night before Thanksgiving and most people are off of work, it’ll probably be full of partiers blowing off some steam. It sounds perfect.

Tucker doesn’t comment when he sees me getting ready for my date, and he stays in his room when Ely shows up to get me. I can’t worry about his reaction right now. He’s made it clear he isn’t interested in me, especially since he’s been calling me kid again. So, he certainly doesn’t get to decide who I go out with. When the doorbell rings, I glance around the empty living rom. As much as I want to go out and have some fun, a big part of me just wants to hang out with Tucker.

I’d rather he were the one taking me out, but that’s just not going to happen. I’m starting to feel like a stupid schoolgirl infatuated with her older brother’s friend.

“Leah, you look beautiful,” Ely says, when I greet him at the door.

“Thank you.”

I had my hair trimmed and nails done so I feel beautiful tonight. He walks me out to his…smart car. Okay, I’ve never actually met someone who owned one of these. He’s more dedicated to the environment than I expected. It’s absolutely tiny, though, and it seems to have trouble with one of the steeper hills that lead back to town.

He turns toward me with a charming little smile. “I hope you like the band. I’ve never heard them, but I’ve heard good things.”

“No worries. My taste is pretty eclectic.”

We chat on the drive there, getting to know one another a little better. The parking lot is packed when we arrive, but again, he has a smart car, so he has no problem squeezing it between two trucks.

The bouncer at the door cards both of us, and Ely grabs my hand as we make our way through the crowd. I scold myself when the first thought through my head is that Tucker’s hand is rougher, stronger, more manly than the soft skin against my palm now. The guy must use more moisturizer than I do.

We find a table in the back where the music isn’t so loud and we can hear one another. A harried waitress comes to take our order and Ely asks, “What would you like to drink?”

“Vodka and Cranberry.”

“And bring me a beer,” Ely adds.

The waitress delivers our drinks, and we spend a few minutes talking and drinking. I don’t drink very often and I can already feel the alcohol taking hold a little. My body starts wanting to move with the music.

The band is really good.

“Sorry about the music. My friend must be hard of hearing. He said they sounded like a crossover between The Decemberists and Mumford and Sons. Not this poppy crap.”

Okay then.

“Do you want to dance?”

He scoffs. “To this? No thanks.”

An awkward silence erupts until he says, “I don’t know what happened to our waitress.”

“It’s busy. I’m sure she’s overwhelmed.”

“I’m going to order at the bar. Another Vodka and cranberry?”

“Please,” I reply. I’m probably going to need two more to get through this date. He seemed so different before. Now he’s coming off as a snooty douche. My feet are itching to get out on the dance floor and if he won’t dance with me after this next drink, I’m going to hit the floor alone.

While he’s waiting at the bar, I take the opportunity to use the ladies room. The line isn’t as long as I feared, but as soon as I step out, I hear a commotion. I hope there isn’t a fight. Some asshole always has to ruin a good time.

Oh shit. Why does the bouncer have Ely in a headlock?

Trying not to be noticed, I approach the bar until I can hear the argument going on.

“Let me go! I’m not leaving! Styrofoam! You use Styrofoam containers for food! Do you have any idea how long they take to decompose? Of course you do! Everyone has known that for years! And you still use it? I’m staying right here until your company agrees to stop killing the earth!”

During the scuffle with security, Ely manages to produce a set of handcuffs and cuffs himself to the bar. “Protest! I’m mounting a protest!” he shouts.

“Probably the only thing he’s ever mounted,” a man behind me calls out, and everyone laughs.

Yeah, I’m not with this guy. At least the place is too crowded for him to see me as I slink back near the bathrooms and consider my options. I need a ride. Judging by the two officers that just walked in, Ely is going to jail…again.

Worst date ever.

As much as I hate to do it, Tucker is the only one who wouldn’t have to drive far to get me. In this little town, there are no taxis that will run out into the county.

Tucker answers on the first ring, like he had the damned phone in his hand. “Leah?”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry to ask you, but, do you think you could pick me up?”

“Did that little fucker do something?” he demands.

“No, he didn’t do anything to me. I’m fine. It just…the date just didn’t work out and I need a ride. I’m at The Cave on Ninth Street.”

“I’m on my way.”

Ignoring the commotion at the bar, I order another drink from the waitress who gives me a commiserating smile when she brings it. “Ditching your date?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I scoff, gesturing to where the cops are patting him down, looking for the handcuff key.

Did he just? Yep, he swallowed it.

The crowd laughs and cheers, thoroughly enjoying the night’s entertainment. “This has to be the biggest first date fail ever,” I groan, draining my drink.

The waitress blanches. “It’s the first date?” She lays a hand on my arm. “Count your blessings, honey. Better to find out he’s crazy now.”

“You’re right,” I laugh. She walks away and the music starts back up as if that will distract from the sideshow going on at the bar. It seems to work since the dance floor fills right back up.

The cops must not have a handcuff key to fit his cuffs since they’ve brought in a small tool and are sawing at the narrow wooden beam he cuffed himself to. Screw this. It’ll take Tucker a while to get here. I’m dancing.