My lips twitch, a strange aching relief pushing through my veins. “And big, strong men don’t admit to weakness?”
The corner of his mouth curls, but he won’t meet my eyes. “Something like that.” Then he goes so pale that I move closer.
“Hey,” I say softly, as I search his face. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”
He gives a bare nod. “Migraines. I get them.”
“I do too.” And they suck. I touch his arm, and the skin under his forearm is like silk. I have to stop myself from stroking him. “You need to lie down. You shouldn’t have come to class.”
“I can’t skip class,” he says with a sigh. “And I can’t go home. I’ve got practice in an hour.”
“Practice? Drew—”
“It’s what I do.” He presses his fingers to his eyes. “Sometimes it sucks. But that’s part of the job. I’ve downed about ten ibuprofen, I’ll be okay.”
“You’re going to have guys slamming into you while you have a migraine?” I need to let this go, but my head hurts for him.
Instead of being annoyed, he gives me weak smile. “Feeling sorry for me yet? Because I think I can manage a tear or two.”
“Stop trying to deflect.” I take hold of his elbow. “Come with me.”
“I don’t know, Jones. As much as I want to, I don’t think I can perform at top level—”
“Drew, shut up.”
Meekly, he complies.
I could take him back to my place but there isn’t enough time. So I lead him toward the student union. The sun is high and bright as we walk across the quad.
“Put your sunglasses on,” I tell him as we walk.
“You want me incognito?” He’s already pulling them out and putting them on. And looking way too good wearing them.
“No, it’s for your eyes—” I shut up as I catch his grin. “Stop fucking with me.”
He laughs. “But fucking with you is fun, Jones.”
“Did you seriously just double entendre me?”
Another laugh. “I don’t think that question was grammatically correct, Jones, but yeah.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, hugging me close, and kisses my temple. I’m engulfed in his warmth, feel his affection. Flustered, I pull free to open the door to the dining hall.
“What are we going to do here?” Drew asks, holding the door for me.
I don’t even need to duck under his outstretched arm. “Getting supplies.”
Despite his paleness, he wags his brows. “You’ve got my complete attention now.”
No. I’m not going to smile. Not even a little.
I smile. “You have a one track mind.”
“Not true, Jones,” he says in a voice only for me. “I have a few choice tracks in regards to you. But yeah, they eventually lead to the same place.” The wicked look in his eyes tells me exactly where that place is. Not that I have any doubt.
Fighting a grin, I roll my eyes and head toward the food court. Only to get inundated by people. That is, people swarm Drew. Honestly, I don’t know how he stands it. Sweat immediately prickles my lower back and my shoulders hunch. I’m jostled about as guys come up to slap Drew on the shoulder or give him a high-five.
The brush of Drew’s fingers against mine tells me he’s trying to grab my hand. I evade him and step away. He doesn’t look happy about that, and I point toward the salad bar. “I’ll be there.”
I leave him frowning before he turns and talks to his fans.
At the salad bar, I find a small condiment container and fill it with olive oil.
“What’s with the olive oil?”
I almost drop the container at Drew’s question. “For someone so big, you can sneak up on a person surprisingly well.” Now that he’s here, I feel the warmth and energy of him at my back. I pop on a lid. “And you’ll have to wait and see.”