Page 38 of Faking the Pass

I Won’t Look

P resley

Just when we were making progress.

Or at least I’d hoped we were. Out on the boat yesterday when I’d pulled off my shirt, there had been something there in Rosie’s eyes.

Something that made me think maybe she wasn’t as ambivalent toward me as she’d been pretending to be.

That maybe the post-honeymoon return to celibacy had been as hard on her as it was on me.

And it had been hard.

Every morning when she emerged from behind that closed guest room door, I braced myself for the sexy-outfit-of-the-day.

Yesterday’s little dress had almost done me in.

I’d been so close to falling at her feet and begging her to let me back into her bed.

Tonight we’d be sleeping together again, but it had literally taken her being sick as a dog to make it happen.

Sort of felt like a game that ended in a tie after overtime. Technically it wasn’t a loss, but it wasn’t a win either.

What I’d said to her was true, though.

After what I’d seen so far, she couldn’t be trusted to make it to and from the bathroom alone, much less shower or make her own meals.

And seeing her like this, so helpless and miserable, there was no way I could stay mad at her.

When Rosie had announced her intention to reinstate the no-sex clause of our ridiculous contract , I’d felt like a kid who’d made the world’s greatest Halloween candy haul then had it taken away by a mom overly concerned about cavities.

Of course I was aggravated. And horny as hell.

A few days of sex with her had been enough to activate my sweet tooth permanently. That brief taste of Rosie James had apparently been enough to turn me into an addict—and withdrawal was never pretty.

I’d been hoping that once we slept together, she wouldn’t want to stop—as if I was some sort of addictive substance or something.

Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

I walked into the bedroom to check on her again, as I’d done countless times since getting her home yesterday afternoon. Even ill, she was gorgeous. With her eyes closed, she couldn’t object to my wandering gaze.

Taking in her shapely legs and the curve of her bottom peeking out from the hem of the t-shirt she’d worn to bed, I felt some inappropriate movement below the belt.

And now I feel like an asshole for checking out the unconscious sick girl.

Lifting the sheet, I drew it up and over her.

Last night, I had lain awake next to Rosie for a long time, studying her beautiful face in the moonlight, pulling the covers up when they had slipped from her shoulders, and reaching out to stroke her hair and cheek when I’d finally lost the battle to keep myself from touching her.

Then I’d slept beside her with one eye open the rest of the night, alert to any movement on her part and worried she might try to go to the bathroom without my support.

I’d been hoping her condition would spontaneously resolve itself today, but she was still dizzy and nauseous and unusually tired.

Worried, I’d left a message for Dr. Byron at around noon. She finally called me back at four.

“Hey, sorry for the delay. I was slammed today. What’s up? You okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m good. I’m calling about my wife.”

Hearing those words coming from my mouth filled me with a surprising sense of pleasure.

“I heard you got married. Congratulations,” Dr. Byron said.

“Thanks. Listen, we went deep sea fishing yesterday, and she got really seasick. I’ve never seen a case this bad. I’m wondering if it might be Mal de Debarquement.”

“What are her symptoms?”

“Extreme dizziness—to the point of falling down. Nausea, cold sweats, exhaustion.”

“Yeah, sounds like it unfortunately,” she said. “MDD is very difficult to treat. Most treatments aren’t very effective. We could try Clonazapam at a low dose. It’s an anti-seizure drug that helps some people. Can you bring her in?”

I walked to the bedroom door and peeked in on Rosie. “She’s asleep right now. But I don’t think it’s the best idea to put her in the car anyway, you know?”

“Yeah you’re right,” Dr. Byron said. “I’ll put in a prescription for her, and maybe you can have it delivered to your place. If she doesn’t get some relief within a couple of days, you’ll have to bring her into my office.”

“Okay. Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Just be aware the clonazepam has a few side effects—trouble thinking, nightmares, confusion.”

“Cure sounds worse than the disease.”

She laughed. “I know, right? I sound like a pharmaceutical commercial. Hopefully it’ll keep her from falling and getting injured, though. And help her keep some food down.”

That was all I needed to hear. I’d been alarmed at Rosie’s lack of appetite.

“Okay well thanks again,” I said. “I’ll text you tomorrow and let you know how things are going.”

“Presley,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful of your collarbone, okay? Don’t try to be a hero and carry her or something. The plate and screws you had put in might make it feel like it’s healed, but it’s not.”

“Right. Thanks.”

About a minute after we ended the call, my phone rang. It was Dylan.

Naturally I’d canceled our dinner plans for last night.

My entire family had been texting me throughout the day, checking on Rosie, and my mom had dropped off some food that, unfortunately, Rosie hadn’t been able to eat.

“Hey brother,” I said, picking up Dylan’s call.

“How’s the patient?” he asked. “Or should I say, how long till I can start teasing Rosie about her complete lack of sea legs?”

“Pretty much the same. I just got her a prescription from Dr. Byron though, so hopefully that’ll help.”

“Want me to go pick it up?”

“Nah, CVS usually delivers pretty quick. Thanks though.”

“Sure. Just let me know if you need anything. Mia has Lily this week, so I’m available anytime after practice.”

“Thanks.”

“So it’s pretty weird she got so nauseous from a few hours out on a boat,” Dylan said.

“Yeah. I guess so, though I was reading up on it today—it just happens with some people.”

There was a pause, then Dylan said, “I was just wondering… I mean, do you think there’s anything else going on?”

“What do you mean? What else could be going on?”

“I mean… Mia had morning sickness pretty bad for the first few months when she was pregnant with Lily,” he said. “And you two did just return from your honeymoon a few weeks ago. Sometimes morning sickness is the first sign of pregnancy.”

A flash of panic lit up my skin like a Jumbotron.

But after a minute, the panic morphed into something else. A distinct sense of pleasure. Happiness even. Which surprised me.

I’d never been interested in having a kid—babies were the ultimate distraction.

But there was something appealing about the thought of Rosie being pregnant with my baby.

It would certainly turn this temporary arrangement into something a little more permanent, even if that something was only co-parenting.

“Pres? You still there?” Dylan asked. “Or did you just pass out?”

“Nah. I’m here. I’m good. I don’t think it could be possible. I used a condom every time.”

“Really? With your wife?”

“You know the situation,” I said.

“Do I?”

“The last thing either of us wants is for Rosie to get pregnant, okay? Listen, I’ve gotta go. I hear her getting up.”

“Okay, bro. Take care of her. And my offer still stands. You need anything, just call.”

By the time I got to the bedroom, Rosie was already halfway to the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “You’re supposed to call me when you need to get up.”

“Not for this,” she said, then for some reason, she blushed. “I want to take a shower. I don’t need your help.”

“Like hell you don’t. You don’t need a shower anyway. You’re fine.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes and then staggered to the side, careening against the wall.

I rushed to her side, immediately defying doctor’s orders by sweeping her legs from beneath her and lifting her, intending to take her back to bed.

“I believe my point has been made,” I said.

Rosie squirmed and kicked, trying to escape my hold.

“And I believe I have the right to take a shower when I want to,” she said in a stubborn tone. “I was out sweating on a fishing boat all day and then got sick who even knows how many times. I definitely need a shower, Presley. Let me go.”

For a long moment, I stood there halfway between the bed, where I should have taken her, and the bathroom, where she insisted on going.

Finally, I turned toward the bathroom. Rosie’s tense body relaxed.

Carrying her into the large glassed-in shower, I eased her down onto the teak bench at the back then went to turn on the water and make sure the temperature was comfortable.

I grabbed my bathrobe from its hook on the back of the door and set it on the chair just outside the shower along with a stack of clean towels.

“Thank you,” Rosie said. “I’ve got it from here. You can go.”

I blinked at her in shock, and a little laugh escaped me.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing but slippery, hard surfaces in here, and you’re about as steady as a lo mein noodle. You’d be on your ass in thirty seconds and probably wind up with a concussion.”

Rosie’s face crumpled in disappointment, and her body sagged.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said in a morose tone. “Would you help me back to the bed?”

A warm, ticklish feeling tugged at my heart, sympathy softening it and my voice along with it.

“Rosie… it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked. And we’ve showered together before.”

Her gaze dropped to her knees, which pressed together tightly. “I know. But this is different.”

“Yeah, it is. You need help, and I’m going to help you,” I said. “Now lift your arms. I’ll help you get the t-shirt off.”

Though her voice was weak, her tone was like steel. She clamped her elbows to her sides.

“We’re not going to shower together, Presley.”

She attempted to stand, but then sat back down hard, obviously off-balance. That’s when I saw the tears on her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?”

I went down on one knee in front of her so I could see her face. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”