Page 36 of The Player Next Door

And “FRIEND”

Clare

I would except I have to go puke now

He smiled softly, glad she wasn’t so sick she couldn’t dish it back. He hadn’t heard from Clare since their almost-kiss, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate things now. He had gotten carried away and spooked her, if her whole “don’t you just sleep around a lot?” speech had been any indication. But if Clare was asking him a favor—even if he was the last person on her list and she was being not subtle about not wanting to date him—maybe there was hope for them after all.

Logan

What flavor Gatorade? Blue?

Clare

What are you, a monster? Yellow or gtfo

Logan glanced at the clock on his microwave to confirm that Sam was supposed to arrive in ten minutes, which meant he really had at least twenty-five. He grabbed his keys and his wallet, sliding on the sandals he left near the door, and headed out. He was still in an old pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless shirt from a charity tournament he and Vince had played in a few years ago, but the store was just around the corner from their building anyway.

He had at least ten minutes to spare before Sam’s true arrival time when he reached Clare’s door. He knocked and waited long enough that he was about to pull out his phone to make sure she was still conscious when he heard slow shuffling on the other side of the door.

“Logan?”

“You were expecting someone else?”

She sighed and he bit back a grin. “Just leave it at the door. I don’t want to get you sick. Oh, and here.” She slid a ten-dollar bill under the crack in the door and Logan rolled his eyes, crouching down to shove it back.

“I’m not taking your money, just consider this being neighborly,” he called.

Another sigh. “Okay, but I’m waiting until you leave to come out and get it. You really don’t want this; it’s nasty.”

“Understood,” he said, setting down the plastic bag. He took a couple of unnecessarily loud steps away before tiptoeing back to her door, careful to stay close to the wall.

Ten seconds later, the door unlocked and Clare crawled out.

Literally crawled. On all fours.

She grabbed the bag and turned around, freezing when her gaze met his feet. She raised her eyes slowly, like she was hoping against hope it would be someone other than him. Logan leaned his shoulder against the edge of her door and crossed his arms. “Whatcha doing down there?” He probably shouldn’t tease her when she was sick, but he couldn’t help himself. She was just too damn cute.

Clare rested her forehead on the grey industrial carpet lining the hallway. “Hoping you wouldn’t see me like this?” She pushed herself up heavily, wincing until she was settled with her back against the other side of the door jamb. She was in a white T-shirt several sizes too big for her and for a moment, Logan was seized with irrational jealousy at the idea that perhaps it belonged to another man. But then he saw that it saidGaladriel for Presidentin a faux-political ad font and the need to punch someone eased. She crossed her arms over her stomach and he took in the grey, clammy pallor of her skin and the sweat darkening the wisps of hair on her forehead.

He frowned, his retort dying on his tongue. “How long have you been sick?”

“I dunno, woke up early this morning feeling like shit.” She hissed, crossing her arms tighter, and Logan crouched down to her level. “Maybe food poisoning, although I can’t figure out what it would have been, which leaves stomach flu, I guess.”

“Stomach pain?”

“When you’ve been puking your guts out for twelve hours your stomach is probably going to hurt, yes,” she said, face tightening again. Clare flinched away when he lifted his hand. “Seriously, don’t touch me. You probably shouldn’t even be standing this close.”

Logan ignored her and touched the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin was scalding. He trailed his knuckles down the side of her face, watching her eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Where does it hurt?”

“My stomach, I told you.”

“No, I mean—is it your whole stomach? Or just one side?”

She shook her head, stopped, and her eyes went big. “Shit, do you think it’s appendicitis?”

Logan gently pried her hand away from her midsection. “I’m going to push and when I let go, tell me how it feels,” he said and very lightly pressed down on her right side. She grimaced, and when he lifted his hand, she let out a pitiful squeak.

“That hurt,” she whimpered. “A lot.”