I open my mouth before closing my lips around it. When I hear it go off, I open my eyes, not even having realized they were closed.
He removes it from my mouth and shakes his head. “One-oh-two,” he says, looking at me worriedly.
“I’ll be okay.” I lean my head against the headboard and pull the covers up to my waist.
His hand comes up, his fingers running along my hairline. “I’d feel better if you didn’t have a temp.”
I smile. “You can’t control everything.”
“I don’t like you sick. How about you take a shower while I make you some soup?”
“Okay,” I sigh. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s not going to give up until my temperature is down. I sit up completely, and he helps me into the bathroom, starting the shower for me before helping me remove my clothes. There is nothing sexual about it, and I can tell by the concentration on his face that he is just focused on taking care of me and helping me get better.
“You gonna be okay or do you want me to stay in here?” he asks, helping me into the shower.
“I’ll be okay.” I nod, tilting my head back under the water.
The feel of the warm water running over me makes me sigh in relief. I open my eyes when I don’t hear him say anything else. His hands are above his head, holding on to the shower rod, the muscles of his harms flexing. The look on his face has me swallowing hard.
“I was good until you made that sound,” he says, his voice raising the hairs on my arms.
“What sound?” I ask. Even though I’m sick, I feel my body react to the look in his eyes.
“It’s this noise you make when I slide inside you. I haven’t heard it in so long. When the sound left your mouth, my boy woke up,” he says, tilting his head down toward his crotch.
I lower my eyes and see the large outline of his erection through his jeans. We haven’t had sex since we got back together. Between Brandon, work, and Mike’s schedule at the club, we haven’t been able to spend more than a few hours together. Now, after not having had him for so long, my body is waking back up. It never took much for him to get to me. I swear I can feel myself get wet just by thinking of him.
“I’m gonna go make your soup,” he growls.
I nod, licking my lips, my eyes tracking his movements. I want to lean out of the shower and wrap myself around him.
“Motherfucker,” he mumbles before turning and leaving me standing in the shower.
I hear him as he goes down the stairs and listen as cabinets open and close. I can’t help it; the smile that spreads across my lips gets bigger the louder he becomes downstairs. I can imagine him muttering under his breath while slamming the cabinets.
I finish washing up then get out. I twist my hair in a towel before wrapping up in my favorite robe and climbing back into bed. I turn on the TV just as Mike walks into the room carrying a tray I didn’t even know I owned.
“Where did you find that?” I ask him as he walks around the bed, setting the tray down on my lap.
“Brought it with me.” He smiles. “Ma was over at my place when I called you. She told me what you would need.”
My heart flutters. No one has ever looked after me when I was sick before—not even my ex-husband. He was always too busy. Of course, later I learned that it was difficult for him to be married to me while carrying on a relationship with his girlfriend and her children.
“Thank you,” I whisper, looking down at the tray. Not only did he bring me soup, but he also brought me crackers and ginger ale. I dip the spoon into the soup, coming up with broth and tiny stars. I smile bigger as I swallow a spoonful.
“You feel better after your shower?”
“Actually, yes.” I nod, watching as he takes off his boots and pulls his shirt off over his head. I don’t think I will ever get over the sight of him.
I’ve never had any problems with my weight. My whole life, I have been the same size. Even when I was pregnant with my son, I didn’t gain more than twenty pounds. But Mike’s body is something different altogether. His muscles are defined. You can tell just by looking at him that he takes care of himself.
After he is down to his boxers and his clothes are neatly placed in the large, oversized chair in the corner of my room, he climbs into bed next to me, careful not to spill my soup as he wraps an arm around my shoulder.
“You got the remote?” he asks.
Without thinking, I hand it to him. Then he turns on a football game and kisses the side of my head. The whole thing feels surreal. It feels like we have done this a million times.
“What time do you have to go into work?” I ask him. I don’t want him to leave, but he works nights and being the owner of a strip club doesn’t come with a normal schedule.
“Joe’s got it covered tonight,” he says absently, his eyes focused on the game.
My insides are turning liquid. He is having his brother take over so he can be with me.
“I’ll be okay if you need to go to work,” I tell him, scooping up another spoonful of soup.
“He’s got it, babe,” he says, looking over at me. “The club’s not going anywhere. It’s probably gonna be a slow night anyway, and Joe can handle it.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Eat,” he says, his tone gentle.
I nod and finish eating. When I’m done, he takes the tray downstairs only to come back up carrying a plastic shopping bag. When he gets back into the bed, he dumps the bag out and I start to laugh. There is every kind of medication you could think of, from stuff for colds, period pain relievers, and stuff for gas and bloating.