“All right then. Give us about ten minutes and we’ll have it ready for you. You’re welcome to wait here or in the waiting room.”
“I gave the receptionist my card. Have her charge the visit and the medicine.”
“Sure thing. I’ll send her in with everything as soon as it’s ready. Feel better, Stacy,” he says over his shoulder as he leaves the room.
“I don’t want to expose Logan and the baby more than I already have,” she says, holding her throat.
Shit. I didn’t even think about that. I pull my phone out of my pocket and call Kacen.
I explain what’s going on. “Can you have Logan pack us a bag? I’m going to just call a cab and get a hotel room. We don’t want to risk it with Logan and the baby.”
He agrees and I’m ending my call just as the receptionist comes into the room.
“Here’s your receipt and your card, Mr. Hampton. The prescription is in the bag.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning to give all of my attention to Stacy. This girl didn’t even acknowledge her. “You ready to get home and get some rest, sweets?”
“Yes.” She winces.
“Don’t talk. Text me if you have to, but don’t talk.”
“Do you all have cough drops and Advil here too?” I ask the nosy fucking receptionist, who is still standing there watching us.
“Yeah, right this way. We have our own miniature pharmacy.”
After I grab everything I think she might need—and most of it I’m sure she won’t—we make our way outside. Gavin hands me a bag and points to the cab. “Logan got you a room, the cabbie knows where he’s going. The reservation is under Stacy Hampton.” He smirks.
“Thank you.” She winces again, holding her throat.
“Don’t talk,” I scold her. “Thanks, man. I’ll call you all tomorrow.” I reach for the bag with one hand and Stacy with the other. “Let’s get you to bed.”
The sun hits my face and I groan. Cole quickly hops out of bed and pulls the blinds.
“Sorry, sweets. I didn’t think about closing them last night when we got in.”
“Thank you,” I croak. Gah! My throat is killing me.
Cole climbs back into bed and snuggles under the covers. He pulls me to him. “Don’t talk. You don’t have to thank me. I want to take care of you.” He places a feather-soft kiss against my temple. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, but you need to at least be drinking something. I’m going to call downstairs. You want coffee?”
Another shake of my head. Coffee doesn’t sound good to me.
“How about some hot chocolate?”
Again, I shake my head. Reaching over, I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and quickly type out a message.
Me: Milkshake
“Milkshake. Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks. “Flavor?”
I type out another text.
Me: Vanilla
“Anything else sound good to you?”
Me: No, thank you.
“I’m going to call downstairs and order it, and then I’ll get your medicine.” He reaches for the phone on the nightstand and orders himself some breakfast and me a milkshake.
Once he’s finished, he pulls me back into his chest and I snuggle up to him. I hate being sick, but it’s nice to have this, to have someone who is there to help. Not that I’m not capable of taking care of myself, but it’s the thought that he wants to. That he hasn’t left my side.
“I need to get your medicine,” he finally says, releasing his hold on me.
I move into a sitting position and watch as he pulls on his jeans, then gathers my medication. He pulls a bottle of water from the mini fridge and hands everything to me.
“This one”—he points to a horse pill that will be hell on my throat—“is your antibiotic. The other three are Advil for pain.”
I take them from him and swallow them one at a time. I’ll be glad when they kick in. I hate this. We were supposed to have three days together to just hang out, and here he is taking care of me. I feel guilty.
Room service arrives not long after and the milkshake feels and tastes like heaven. Cole dives into his breakfast, sitting beside me in the bed.
“You want to try some eggs?”
I grab my phone and send him a text.
Me: No, but thank you.
He reads his message and continues eating. Once he’s finished, he sets his plate on the floor and rolls over to face me.
Picking up my phone, I send him another text.
Me: You don’t have to stay with me today.
I watch as he reads it.
“Where else would I be?”
Me: Call the guys. Go have some fun. This is your time off.
“You’re right, it is. I’m also spending it just as I would have, even if you weren’t sick—with you.” He taps the end of my nose. “I cherish this alone time that I get with you. We’re usually on a crowded bus, so this”—he waves his hand around the room—“is exactly where I want to be.”
Me: What if I get you sick?