Page 34 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

This is stupid. This is so, so, so absurdly stupid of me.

Just because Gabriel texted me this morning to tell me he’s too sick to make it to our first rehearsal together at the aquatic center tonight, doesn’t mean he’s actually sick.

People say they’re sick all the time to get out of things when they don’t want to tell the truth.

For all I know, he has a date with a shibari partner lined up.

The memories of Gabriel and his ropes have taken up residence in the forefront of my mind since the moment he showed me the images of himself all tied up, since the moment he ran his warm fingers and cool ties across my skin.

I think about those moments when I’m mindlessly kneading dough, when I’m enjoying the peace of my predawn walk to work, and when I’m swimming around my tank at the aquatic center.

Of course, the idea of him tying someone else is one of the first things that popped into my head when he said he wouldn’t be able to make rehearsal, and that image isn’t one I like.

Obviously, he’s been playing with other people for years, and certainly, our moments together were a stolen, one-time-only event.

No doubt he’ll continue with his normal partners instead of me in the future, but that doesn’t mean I have to like thinking about him with other people.

My stupid heart is convinced that he’s mine now.

That what happened between us, the warm intimate bubble that grew around us that felt like slipping under the depths of silver waters, was unique and precious.

That it’s something to be cherished and treasured.

That he’ll carry it with him the way I always will.

That it’s something he'll want to do with me again and again.

Even worse than the thought of him canceling in order to tie someone else is the way I can’t stop wondering if he’s told me he’s sick so that he can meet a sex partner who’s like…

I don’t know…a flight attendant or Olympian or astronaut.

Someone handsome and witty and impressive and oh so much cooler than I am with my simple baked goods and merman tail.

They probably get together every time the embodiment of male perfection comes into town.

I’m sure they spend the entire night twisted up in one another’s arms, all sweaty and passionate.

God, I bet Gabriel is amazing in bed. The quick hand job in the club bathroom was hands down the best sexual experience of my life.

I bet if we had all night, he’d take his time like he does with the rope, always paying attention to my needs and…

Nope. Where was I? Oh yeah. Just being a weirdo, showing up unannounced on his doorstep with the groceries to make creamy chicken and dumpling soup, just because he said he’s sick, even though the most likely outcome of this poor, poor choice is me interrupting his sticky, touchy plans with a handsome, rich astronaut in town for their regular booty call.

“Go away.” When he finally yells an answer after my third knock, his normally confident, perky voice is scratchy and quiet enough that it’s hard to hear through the metal door. Fuck. I think he really is sick.

“Oh.” Maybe he says something else, but all I can hear is Cupcake barking frantically enough that she must think she’s protecting him from a murderer instead of a guy with grocery bags.

“Open.”

I’m not sure I hear that right, and I don’t want to just barge in like a crazy person. “Sorry. I couldn’t make that out. Did you say it’s open?”

“Mmm.”

Okay then. I’m just going to assume that’s what he said and that his moan was confirmation rather than the sound of him dying. Either way, I’m taking it as permission.

Cupcake steals my attention when I open the door, just like she always does, and I have to carefully keep her inside with my foot and squish through the tiniest opening I can manage to keep her from bolting, not something that’s easy to do at my size.

As soon as the door is closed and she’s no longer a flight risk, I give her what she wants, setting the bags on the floor and bending down to scoop her up and kiss her little head as she whines and wiggles around in excitement.

When I finally glance up, it’s to the vision of the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.

Gabriel is curled up on the couch under a blanket with a box of tissues on the floor, and a pile of used ones on the end table, coffee table, and floor.

His normally polished, pulled-together appearance isn’t anywhere to be found in the messy-haired, red-eyed, sniffling mess in front of me.

“Hey there. Umm…you didn’t say whether you had a cold or the flu or if sick just meant you needed a night to yourself to eat pizza and play video games or something, so I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay.

” My voice has shifted to the soft, calming tones usually reserved for churches and hospitals, but I can’t help it; he just looks so wretched and miserable.

“I’m fine. Totally good. I mean, I shouldn’t have licked all those people at the club on Friday night, but otherwise, so, so good.” He moans and rolls to bury his face in his pillow.

“You…you what?” I know I shouldn’t judge, but I can’t keep the horror out of my voice.

His laugh only lasts for a moment before it devolves into deep, wracking chest coughs, and I quickly search through my shopping bags to rush him over a bag of cough drops.

His eyebrows rise in surprise or confusion, maybe even disbelief, as he tries to stop coughing, fish one out of the package, and stare at me without blinking, all at the same time.

Fortunately, I picked up the good honey kind rather than the ones that just taste like chemically enhanced cherries but don’t actually do anything to stop coughs, and it seems to help fairly quickly.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice harsh and raw.

His hand stays on his chest, pressing until his knuckles whiten as he fights to not start coughing again.

“I don’t actually lick people at clubs. It was just crowded, and I’m sure more than one person there was infected with the plague.

Honestly, it’s probably a miracle I don’t get sick more often since I’m around so many people at work all day, and then I go out every Friday with friends, on top of it. ”

He shifts the cough drop to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, and I should not find that sexy at all, given the fact that his eyes are bloodshot, his voice is nasal and stuffy, and he just tried to cough up a lung.

“Wait, where did you…What’s with the grocery bags, and where did this cough drop come from?” He narrows his eyes in suspicion. Who is suspicious of someone with grocery bags and cough drops?

“You said you were sick. So I thought I’d bring you a few things in case you didn’t already have what you needed.

” I shrug sheepishly. I was already unsure this was a good choice, and now that he seems suspicious of me, I sort of want to just abandon the bags and run away, but leaving raw chicken on his front room floor for Cupcake to eat and then throw up doesn’t seem like the kindest choice.

“Let me get this straight. I texted you I couldn’t make it because I was sick, and you…

” He pauses as he gets up to poke through the bags, clearing his throat and sniffling even harder when he bends over.

“You brought tissues and cough drops and cold pills and chicken to my house?” His tone elevates as he talks, like he’s realizing I brought him ponies and gold.

Maybe he’s worried it’s all been a ploy to this point, and I’m finally here to murder him.

I just shrug once more. “Yeah.”

“But…” His brows furrow. “We’ve known each other for like two months.”

“So. I know you don’t live with anyone, and being sick alone sucks because sometimes all you really need is like soup or a popsicle, and you don’t have them, and really don’t want to spend thirty dollars on grocery delivery for a popsicle.”

“Oh my god. That is just…You are just…Who does that?” His eyes look like they’re either going to pop out of his head if he tries to open them any wider, or he’s going to start crying. Neither of which seems like they’d be good for a guy as sick as he is.

“I do. Now come on.” I let my arm slide around his waist to rest my hand on his lower back and guide him back to the couch.

He drops like a rock and stares at me like I’m a mirage while I gather up the bags and unpack a few things on the end table for him.

It’s not really much. Just some sports drinks and honey candies and cold pills.

“You get comfy and rest, and I’m going to make you some soup as long as you don’t mind me using your kitchen.

It’s not exactly my signature caramel cranberry pistachio croissants, but it’s pretty good soup, and it should help keep you hydrated and ease your throat a bit.

I’m assuming it hurts since you sound like you’ve been swallowing…

umm…nails.” I cringe when his eyebrow lifts and his lips curl up in a teasing grin.

We both know I was about to say something other than nails, and I rush to continue before he can comment and I end up blushing in his presence yet again.

“I’ll make a big batch so you have it for a few days and won’t have to think about doing much to feed yourself while you feel like shit. ”

He just nods. That’s it. Just a nod. I’m not really sure how to process a silent Gabriel.

I’m a bit afraid that I’ve broken him, so I just offer him the kindest smile I can, ruffle his hair because, while I always want to touch him, somehow this pathetic mess version makes him even more irresistible, and haul the remaining bags into the kitchen.

I’ve finished dicing and searing the chicken, dumped it all into a bowl for later, and am searching the cabinets for flour to make a rue and dumpling batter when Gabriel drags himself into the kitchen and drops down onto one of the barstools that line the back of the counter.

If anything, he looks worse than he did when I arrived.

He’s wearing a blindingly fluorescent-purple silk rope and has a multicolored knit afghan around his shoulders like a giant cape.

His hair is sticking up in a million directions at once, and he is utterly and completely adorable.

It shouldn’t be possible for an adult to be equal parts adorable and sexy, especially when they’re as sick as Gabriel is, but he manages it.

It’s dangerous. Spending time around him this way, all cozy and domestic, instead of pretending like all I want from him is our professional partnership, makes it nearly impossible for me to keep my feelings for him shoved into their tiny box in a locked closet in my head.

“Do you have flour? I didn’t think to pick any up because I honestly forget that some people don’t cook or bake since I literally do it all day every day.” I wrinkle my nose in embarrassment that I came to make him dinner but didn’t bring all the ingredients I need with me.

He points to the cabinet beside the fridge before laying his arm on the counter and dropping his head to rest on it. His eyes close immediately, and I honestly assume he’s close to falling asleep by the time I pull a saucepan out to start melting butter and sweating the veggies.

“Bigger one,” he mumbles into his arm.

“What?”

“I have a bigger soup pot under the stove.” He rolls his head listlessly to the side and attempts a smirk. “Size matters, you know.”

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” I snort out a laugh. “I come over to help you while you’re dying, and you make size jokes at my expense.”

He just grins and closes his eyes again.

He should be sleeping or at least resting in bed or on the couch where he can be comfortable, not lying on the cold granite.

I know that he works in a coffee shop and goes out with friends on Friday nights, but he’s never mentioned any family, and his best friend and longtime roommate moved out several months ago.

The fact that he’s propped himself up on an uncomfortable barstool to nap, all folded in half with his head on the counter while I cook, makes me wonder, not for the first time, how lonely he really is.

The idea of someone as funny and kind and full of life as he is, feeling so alone, tugs at my heart, and I have to add yet another lock to my “Liam’s inappropriate feelings for Gabriel” box.

Even though I secretly love having him with me, I can’t in good conscience let him fall asleep this way.

“Come on.” He’s so out of it that he doesn’t notice I’ve set the pot down and made my way to his side until I slip my arm around him once more.

“No, I want to…”

“Nope. You need to rest and relax.” I lead him through the apartment, drawing him tightly to my side so that we can squish through his bathroom doorway together as I pretend I don’t notice the quiet sigh that slips from him or the way he rests his temple against my shoulder.

I settle him on the closed toilet and start the water running in the large tub I noticed the first night I came over to watch his silks routine.

Okay, not the first night. The first night I came in, had a panic attack, and went home.

But on the first night I managed to actually hang around for a while, I was definitely a little jealous when I went to take a leak and found a tub large enough that I could practically swim in it.

Even though not everyone feels like sinking into an ocean or pool or tub soothes their soul the way I do, it definitely isn’t going to hurt the poor, sick thing to stay warm and relax for a bit.

He doesn’t say anything as I drip a bit of his coconut bodywash into the water as the tub fills, or when I walk out of the room without a word, or when I come back with a handful of salt to add to the water a few moments later.

He’s alert and watching me, and he doesn’t seem like anything is wrong, so I don’t bother trying to fill the silence with idle chatter.

I think he’s just overwhelmed and tired.

The whole point of coming over was to help him, not to stress him out, so once the tub is full, I turn off the water, run my fingers briefly through his hair, leave the room without a word, and desperately try not to chop any of my fingers off because I’m too distracted by the fantasy of a wet, naked Gabriel to safely use a knife.