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“ A ll right, I will, Ma. Yeah, I will bring her some soup or something. I’ll check in on her. Okay, love you, bye.” Bradley hangs up his phone. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter? What did your mom have to say?”

“I guess Brooke is sick. She has a really bad cold. She went to urgent care thinking it was a sinus infection and thankfully it wasn’t. I guess a lot of kids at her school have been sick. The doctor prescribed her some medicine but my mom wants me to go and check in on her since my parents are out of town and she can’t go over herself.”

I was wondering why Brooke was MIA the past few days. I thought she got really freaked out by what happened between us on her kitchen counter and she never wanted to see me again. But, it wasn’t me. Hopefully. I need to see her.

I clear my throat. “So, when are you going over to check in on her?”

Bradley stuffs his duffle bag with dirty clothes and grabs his keys. “Right after I am done here. I will stop by the pharmacy to pick up her prescription and get some canned chicken noodle soup or something.”

Brooke hates canned chicken noodle soup. I remember her being sick for one of the Becketts’ Sunday night dinners years ago. Mrs. Beckett was making homemade chicken noodle soup, and she commented that Brooke hated canned soup ever since she was little. Apparently she threw it on the floor when she was in her high chair at the age of two. Even back then, she was stubborn and headstrong. “How long are you going to be over there?”

“Not very. Just long enough to make sure she is alive and then I’ll head out. I don’t want to catch this cold. It’s been spreading around like wildfire.”

“Wow. Brooke is so lucky to have such a great, caring big brother,” I say sarcastically.

Evidently, Bradley doesn’t catch my drift or he chooses to ignore it. “I know, right? She is lucky. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow, bro.” He reaches out and I meet his hand with mine and give him a fistbump.

I wait a couple of hours and then head to Brooke’s house. Luckily one of Brooke’s neighbors lets me into the apartment building when they see I had my hands full. Between a hot medicine ball from Starbucks and a couple of plastic bags filled with Brooke’s favorite ramen and cold supplies, I can’t really open the door, let alone hit the buzzer to come up. I reach apartment 309 and I hear laughing coming from Brooke’s TV through the door. I also hear Brooke’s cute stuffy laugh. Knowing her, she is probably watching reruns of Friends . I smile and knock. I hear her groan and say, “Ugh, Bradley, I literally just got comfortable. And now I have to get up from the couch and open the door and…”

The door swings open and reveals a very sick but still beautiful Brooke. Her nose is super red and her eyes look puffy. Her shoulders are wrapped in a fuzzy pink checkered blanket and her hair is in a messy braid hanging over her shoulder. She is in light gray sweatpants and an oversized shirt that says This is a jumbo coffee morning . There are loose tendrils framing her face. I can tell that she is surprised to see me.

She sniffles and holds up a crinkled tissue to her nose. “What are you doing here?”

“Well hello to you too, Cupcake.”

She raises her eyebrows, unamused. It’s scary how much she looks like Bradley when she does that.

“Um, I overheard Bradley talking with your mom about you being sick. I just wanted…” To see that you are okay. To hold you until you fall asleep. To fucking breathe the same air as you because I miss you so damn much and I can’t stop thinking about the other night. All of the above, really, but I’ll stick to the first reason. The reason most likely to not have her running away from me or slamming the door in my face. “To check on you. Sounded like a pretty bad cold to have you down and out for a few days.”

Her furrowed brows soften a bit and she looks down at my hands. She points to the plastic take-out bag. “What’s in the bag, Hot Shot?” she says in a stuffy voice.

I let out a small laugh, relieved she put down whatever ammunition she was holding up the moment she saw it was me at her door. “Well, first, I brought you a medicine ball. Heard these things are great for colds.” Her lips curl slightly as she takes the hot Starbucks cup from my outstretched hand. Our fingers brush and it sends an electric current through my entire body. Jesus, I need her, but now is hardly the time. I’m sure I am the last thing on her mind.

“Thank you.” She takes a small sip. Her tired eyes meet mine and go straight back to the plastic bag. “The bag?”

“Oh, right, I stopped by that ramen spot that you wouldn’t shut up about at Sunday dinners for the past two years. You like the spicy one, right?” She slowly nods. “I thought it would be better than that disgusting canned chicken noodle soup that I’m sure Bradley brought you earlier.”

There’s my favorite smirk in the world spreading across Brooke’s face. “You’re right. Ramen is way better. Thank you.” She opens the door wider, gesturing for me to come in. I walk past her couch and lo and behold, I was right. Friends is on. I place the bags on her kitchen counter and since I know she is hopeless with chopsticks, I take out forks from the silverware drawer. Her house smells like cinnamon apple pie and that’s when I notice the candle burning on her coffee table. “You know that it’s the end of winter, right? Why the hell are you burning a fall-scented candle in the middle of February?”

“What are you, the candle police? I love the smell. It brings me comfort, okay?” She wipes her nose again.

“Can you actually smell anything right now? By the sound of your voice and the redness of your nose, Rudolph, I bet you can’t.”

She punches my arm and then immediately shakes her hand off. When will she ever learn? “Ow, dammit. Is this your idea of making me feel better? You are doing a hell of a job, Hot Shot.”

I thought that Brooke’s regular voice was the best thing I’ve ever heard. Brooke’s raspy sick voice is making a case against that fact.

“Oh so you’re saying you don’t want this delicious ramen? Or the Vicks vapor rub? Or the boxes of Kleenex, which by the look of your couch and coffee table, you are running out of? Or the extra box of tea that I bought you, with some local honey?” I raise an eyebrow and look down at the cutest girl I’ve ever known.

“I didn’t say that.” She takes out large soup bowls and assembles her ramen. She swipes the fork from my hand and mixes her food around. She huffs as she offers me a bowl so I can do the same thing. Then in her very raspy voice, she says, “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Brooke adjusts the blanket so it covers the top of her head, causing her to look like a shepherd. She slowly makes her way back to her living room and places her giant bowl of ramen on the coffee table. I join her on the ground and I am about to dig in when I notice that Brooke looks like she is about to throw up.

“What’s wrong? Do I need to go get a trash can?”

“I am scared to eat this,” she says plainly.

“Why? I got the right one, didn’t I?” I thought she loved this one specifically. Brooke went to this restaurant so much that she was considered a regular. Knowing this information, I described what Brooke looked like, even went so far as showing the waitress a picture, and asked what she normally gets. They recognized her immediately and knew exactly what she wanted.

“Yes. I am just scared that you put something in it.”

“Brooke…”

“What? What if you thought: Hey this is the perfect opportunity to get rid of Brooke for good. She’s sick and people would never suspect a poisoning or maybe they would just add it up to food poisoning going terribly wrong. Also, the other night was strategically planned out. I was playing mind games with her. Her guard is down now that we basically slept together without actually sleeping together, she won’t think anything of it. I have her right where I want her. She’ll trust that I am being a good guy, or she’ll suspect that something is off and I’ll just lie and say that her ramen isn’t poisoned but it totally is.” She shoots daggers in my direction.

I laugh so hard it makes my stomach hurt and tears start coming out of my eyes.

“What?” she asks, clearly annoyed by my reaction.

“You are spiraling. I am not going to poison you. I did nothing to your ramen. You are being paranoid.”

“Am I?” She stirs the ramen, clearly starving. I wonder when she ate last.

“Yes, you goof. Look, I’m eating some too, okay? It can’t be poisoned. Now, just shut up and eat your ramen. The broth will help.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She blows on the ramen and takes a bite. Relief sets in on her face.

“It tastes normal.”

“See, I told you. God you are fucking stubborn.”

“No I’m not. You are.” She scowls. I shake my head. This woman drives me insane and yet I can’t get her out of my head. She sniffles again. I get up and grab the box of tissues I got for her earlier and open it.

I hand her a new tissue. “Here Cupcake.”

She snatches the tissue out of my hand and quickly wipes her nose. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m always nice to you. You’re just so used to hating me that you can’t see that I am actually a nice person.”

“If that’s your story, Hot Shot.” She sniffles. “You hate me, too.”

I need to save face right now. It’s not time for her to really know how I feel. I don’t want to scare her off or get kicked out of her apartment. I also don’t want Bradley to find out and kick my ass. Or at least attempt to kiss my ass. “Right.” I go back to my ramen and actively divert my attention to her TV. “So, who is your favorite character?”

Now that she has some sort of sustenance in her system, she is thankfully distracted and her guard is lowering little by little. “Probably Monica. Although I die for Rachel’s hair and fashion. If I ever win the lottery, I would buy her entire wardrobe. Or at least a wardrobe that looks similar.”

“I don’t think she wears nearly enough pink to pass for your wardrobe, Cupcake.”

She rolls her eyes then focuses back on the screen. It’s the Thanksgiving episode where they play football and try to win the Geller Cup. “Chandler’s mine.”

She cocks her eyebrow, “You watch Friends ?”

“Who doesn’t watch Friends ?”

“Crazy people.”

“Exactly.”

“Chandler makes sense.” She shrugs underneath the massive blanket covering her immaculate body. I want to be that blanket. I want to have my arms around her and be the thing that is comforting her. The thing that’s keeping her warm.

“So does Monica.”

“Why, because she has massive OCD, is super competitive, and is wildly insecure when it comes to her and Ross?”

Although all of those characteristics do fit the bill of Brooke Beckett, they aren’t the characteristics I think of. “No, because she is caring, sweet and funny.”

Brooke shoots me a shocked look, adjusts in her seat and goes back to eating her ramen.

Shit, was that too much? I try to discreetly shift the conversation. “You know it’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Her eyes don’t move from her bowl. She pushes around her noodles aimlessly, almost as if she is trying to distract herself or is overthinking, which is also her speciality.

“Despite the fact that Monica hated Chandler for a bit, they ultimately ended up together.”

“Well, you can’t blame Monica for hating Chandler. He did call her fat.” Brooke’s cute little crease in between her eyebrows deepens as if she actually is Monica and someone did call her fat, which would be the craziest thing ever since she has the sexiest body in the world.

“Yeah, but he was only covering up his true feelings for her in front of her older brother.” I can feel myself getting defensive.

“No way. He legitimately thought that she was fat. And it was only after she lost all the weight and had a massive glow up that he wanted her.”

“There is no way you can definitively prove that. He didn’t mean for her to hear that. She wasn’t meant to hear that.”

“Well, how is she supposed to know that? Plus, some cuts run deeper than others. If someone said something like that to me, it would be hard to get over. Especially if I liked the other person.”

We sit and let the ebb and flow of TV laughter fill the silence. At some point, after we both finish our ramen – well, I finish my ramen about fifteen minutes before she does because she eats at a glacial pace – Brooke moves to start gathering up the dishes, but I stop her from getting up. “Don’t even think about it, Cupcake. Sit that pretty ass of yours down on that couch and relax.”

“You don’t get to talk about my ass like that, Hot Shot.” She raises up her bowl and I stack it on top of my own empty bowl. She has that pretty scowl on her face, one that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. She still has some fire in her, even if it is doused slightly by her illness.

“Oh I think I’ve earned that right to talk about it like that, don’t you?”

Suddenly, her nose isn’t the only thing that’s red. Her cheeks match and I chuckle on my way to drop the bowls off in the kitchen. I see a small brown bag is unopened, which undoubtedly has her medication inside. “Have you taken your medication yet?”

“Ugh I hate that stuff. It’s the worst cold medicine in the world.”

“I hate to break it to you, Cupcake, but you kind of have to take medication in order to get better.” I take the bottle out of the stapled bag and read the directions. “According to the label, you need to take ten milliliters every eight hours for the next week. So if you want to get some sleep, which by the look of the bags under your eyes, you should – you might need this.”

She flips me the bird.

“Look I’m kidding…kind of.” I open the cap and pour the necessary amount into the clear medicine cup. I fill up a glass with water and head over to the little couch potato formerly known as Brooke Beckett. I place the medicine cup in front of her. “Here. Drink up.”

Her nose scrunches up and she sticks out her tongue. “No way. I’ll just let the cold pass all on its own.”

“Drink it, Brooke,” I say sternly. This woman is like a brick wall.

“You are not the boss of me! You are not my mother or brother, for that matter.” She finally scoots up and takes the blanket off the top of her head. Her hair is sticking up from the static electricity. I press my lips together because I have a feeling that if I laugh at her one more time, she will actually throw me out of her apartment.

I lean down so that my forearms are resting on the back of her obnoxious pink couch. “You’re right. I’m not and I thank God every day for that, Cupcake. Now drink the damn medicine.”

“You’re not going to give in, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh fine.” She takes the cup from my fingers and downs it like a shot. She gags as the liquid makes its way down her throat. I gave her the glass of water to chase it with. I did get a whiff of the stuff and it did smell disgusting. Brooke drinks the water just as fast.

“There, now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Kind of like my company?”

“Your company is worse.”

“Ouch.”

“Tristan, why are you here? You knew that my brother already came by, so why are you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to die on me, Cupcake. Despite what you say about my company, yours isn’t so bad.”

She curls up in her little corner like a cute little hermit. She continues to sip her medicine ball and lets out a small groan, almost like she is in pain.

“What do you need?”

“For you to go.”

“You are the sweetest person I know, Brooke Beckett.”

She grabs a coaster from the small basket in the middle of her coffee table and sets her white disposable cup on top of it. Jesus, she is Monica.

“Not a chance in hell I’m just leaving you here like this. Tell me, what is the thing you are wanting about right now but are too scared to tell me? I am here to help you.”

Brooke peeks over at me from her corner of the couch. “Well…” She lets out a breath. “There is this thing my mom used to do when I was sick when I was a kid. I would lie on her lap and she would pat my back. I guess when I was a baby that was a way to calm me down and I would fall asleep every time. I still do. But she isn’t here and I could never ask you of all people…”

“Go ahead.”

“Go ahead what?”

“Ask me.”

“Tristan, no.”

“You can either come over here willingly or I will make you. It’s your choice.”

We have one of our epic staredowns. We have perfected these staredowns over time and they always make my heart explode since I have the opportunity to look into her almost purely green eyes – though there are moments when her eyes match her beautiful caramel hair and I get lost in them just the same.

She huffs, scoots her way across the couch toward me, and points at me with a serious look on her face. “Don’t get any ideas, Hot Shot. What happened the other night was a one-time thing.”

My stomach clenches at the thought that I will never do that to Brooke ever again. That would be my literal hell.

I raised my hands up. “Hey. I didn’t say a word. Your mind went there. It must be all those romance books you love to secretly read.”

“Oh it’s not a secret. I wear those like a badge of honor. You men like to tease but they are actually great manuals for you all on what women want. It’s kind of like a playbook in hockey so to speak. If you follow the playbook, there are more chances for a successful game, right?”

Brooke’s messy braid is falling out by the second but she pays no mind to it. I like how she is not overly concerned about how she looks or acts around me. She is just Brooke. She grabs one of her many throw pillows, something that I am going to tease her about later (seriously, who needs all these throw pillows?) and places it on my lap and finally gets comfortable. I begin patting her back and I can already feel her breathing find a nice rhythm, and soon her head gets a little heavier on my lap.

“How’s that, Cupcake?” I murmur.

“It will suffice for now.” Before long, I can hear the faintest snore coming from Brooke. I continue to pat her back and, as always happens when this show is on, I get sucked into another episode. I’ve never felt this level of comfort with a woman before. I look down at the woman resting on my lap and take her in while I can. Brooke is nice like this. This version of Brooke isn’t barking back snide remarks or rolling her eyes or worse, completely ignoring me. One of her hands clutches the pillow and the other rests on my knee. She is completely at ease. And so am I.

Still, it is getting late and I know she would be more comfortable in her own bed.

I slowly take the pillow out from under her head and flip her around. I drape her arms around my neck and her head limply falls against the little nook between my shoulder and my neck. I stand up and walk toward her bedroom. I laugh internally because I know that Brooke would flip her shit if she was aware of how we looked. Like a real fucking couple. Or worse, a married couple where the groom is crossing the honeymoon threshold. I lower Brooke onto her bed and take off her slippers before tucking her inside her light pink sheets and white comforter. I spot a box of tissue and place it on her bedside table.

I look at how vulnerable she is. She has her guard down and I want to tell her about the bet. Maybe now is the time? I brush her hair out of her face, tracing her cheeks and jawline softly with my finger. She stirs slightly.

“Tristan?”

I drop onto my knees and continue to play with her hair. “Yeah?”

“Stay,” she says quietly.

My insides melt. Does she know there’s nothing I want more at this moment? “Okay, Cupcake. Just give me a minute. I’ll be back.”

I go back out into the kitchen and start doing the dishes for her. I load everything in the dishwasher and decide to run it. I don’t want her to wake up to a dirty kitchen. I think that is one thing we have in common. We like our houses to be clean. I find some disinfecting wipes and run them over the countertops, cabinet hardware, all the door handles, and any of the commonly touched surfaces in her apartment. I find some multipurpose spray and clean off her coffee table. Her candle is still burning, so I blow it out. After wiping down the remote, I go to turn off the TV, but before I do, I notice that it’s the episode where Chandler doesn’t remember which one of Joey’s sisters he slept with. Damn, I’ve been there, and even worse, Brooke knows I’ve been in that shameful position. Not the part of not remembering that I’ve slept with my best friend’s sister – because, trust me, that is the ONLY thing I’ve been thinking about since it happened – but the whole part about getting so drunk that I can’t remember the name of the girl I’ve slept with. And I know that’s probably one of the reasons Brooke hates me so much. I don’t think she was ever into players and to be honest, I never wanted to be one. If only she knew the truth.

Back in her room, I take off my hat and set it on her dresser. I climb into the bed and she is facing me, but on the complete opposite side of where I am. This is the first time that I’ve ever laid in a woman’s bed without having the intention of sleeping with her. Brooke’s words from earlier ring in my ears: Don’t even think about it . Regardless, I still want to make sure she feels taken care of. She looks so peaceful sleeping there beside me. I grab her hand and attempt to pull her toward me, but I feel some resistance. “Come on, Cupcake,” I whisper.

“No,” she mumbles. “I don’t want you to get sick, Tristan. The end of the season is coming up and I don’t want you to have this and have to take that awful medicine.” I can tell that she is delirious because her words are slurred and she doesn’t open her eyes once. Even in her delirious state, she still has to fight against me and make up a lame-ass excuse.

Again, fucking stubborn.

I grab the back of her upper thigh as close to her ass as I can possibly get without actually touching her ass (I really want to grab her ass but I am not going to push it tonight) and pull her over until her body is flush with mine. I wrap my arms around the back of her thighs and her back. Although she is wearing sweats and a ridiculous oversized Gilmore Girls themed t-shirt, I find her to be in her most beautiful state. This time, she doesn’t push me away. Instead, her leg wraps around mine and her hands find their way to the back of my neck. My favorite spot. I whisper in her ear, “One of these days, you are not going to push against me so much, Cupcake. And I hope that that day is sooner rather than later.”

“In your wildest dreams, Hot Shot.” Brooke’s voice fades away and is replaced by her adorable snore.

Once I confirm that she is fully asleep, I hold her tighter and say, “I wish you could see me the way I see you, Brooke.” I kiss her forehead softly. For years, I’ve been trying to convince myself that what I have been feeling for Brooke was really fueled by hate or at the bare minimum, a silly crush that lingered for far too long. During these past few weeks, I’ve seen Brooke more frequently than ever before, and it has cemented something in me that I have always known. I am just scared shitless to actually admit it to Brooke. Based on our history, the odds are not in my favor. Because of this stupid rule of hers, I’ve never been on her dating radar in that way and I hope to God that no one else is on her radar, especially not Hastings.

Nothing about what I am feeling is a fluke. It certainly isn’t because I want to win a damn bet. My feelings for Brooke are like my love of hockey: indisputable and unmovable.

That night, I sleep the best I have slept in years.