Page 36

I smile at the woman. “Thank you, Granny Grace, but you didn’t have to do this. Yesterday was already a surprise and too much.”

“You think I’m too old to ride an elevator and pass a piece of Tupperware?” She raises a white brow.

I chuckle and she winks.

“Enjoy, honey. Hope to see you back this week. The kids miss you.” She turns around, and I smile after her, softly closing the door when she leaves.

I grab a spoon and head to my room, too lazy to do what she suggested. I only get a fraction of the way through it before my stomach starts to turn and I’m rushing to the bathroom and getting sick.

I drop my head back against the wall with a sigh. “This blows.”

I close my eyes, and I must fall asleep like that because the next thing I know, warm hands are pressing against my forehead.

My eyes peel open, and I blink tiredly into a pair of worried brown eyes.

“Hey, Cammie Baby,” he whispers, stretching past me and turning on the shower.

“Hey, Big Guy.” I smile weakly, reaching up to touch him but then recoiling when I remember my hand was all over the toilet bowl.

He chuckles lightly and wedges himself beside me on the floor, pulling off my socks.

It feels heavenly, and I sigh, closing my eyes again.

“How long you been sitting here?” he murmurs, pushing my hair from my forehead.

I shrug against the wall.

“You take anything yet?”

“Tylenol last night.”

There’s another shuffle, and when I open my eyes, he’s walking out.

A few minutes later, he’s back with a water bottle and a little plastic cup with something purple in it.

“No…”

“Yes,” he says sternly. “It’ll help.”

“But, Daddy, no.” I whine some more.

Brady chuckles again, and a small smile pulls at my lips. “Keep it up, Hellcat. I’m not above a good ass-smacking.”

“I bet you’re not,” I tease. “I bet it’s one of your favorite things in bed.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he mumbles under his breath, but then he looks up with a grin, and it makes mine grow, my head hanging to the side a bit. “This is how I thought Sunday morning last week would go, but you haven’t even been drinking and you’re puking.”

“I didn’t get sick that night.”

“I know. I was there,” he replies. “Thought for sure you’d be praying to the porcelain god by dawn.”

“Meh.” I shrug, and my eyes drink in the sight of him as he bends again, holding the nasty-ass liquid in front of my face. “I wasn’t even that drunk.”

His eyes snap up to mine, narrowing, searching. “No?”

What is it you’re looking for?

I shake my head, and he holds my stare a moment .

I pull in a lungful of air and cringe, looking at the offending liquid.

“All right.” He pushes closer. “Come on, girl. I’ve got water right here, but you need to take this, and you need to hold it down.”

I groan, about to push him away when his eyes harden.

Why is it hot?

That’s weird, right?

My mouth opens, ready for him to pour what he wishes inside.

OMG. Okay.

Do not picture his pierced dick while he’s about to slide something warm into your mouth.

Thank fuck for my fever, as I’m pretty sure my cheeks are on literal fire.

“You good?” he asks worriedly.

I nod, and he tips the cup into my mouth.

I choke down the liquid, accepting the water he offers quickly. With a groan, I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Why is that shit so nasty?”

He doesn’t respond, just nods, staring at my mouth, a small, almost prideful smile tugging at his lips as he processes that I did as he asked. “Okay, next is a shower. Can you stand up?”

I nod, holding my hand out, and he tows me up gently, his arm going around my back to steal a quick hug.

I close my eyes, breathing him in, but he pulls away too quickly, and my lungs feel a little shorted.

“Climb in, but don’t turn the water any hotter. You need to cool down a little.”

I don’t argue, aware I likely smell like a frat house the morning after initiation, and shrug out of my robe as the door closes behind him. My shirt is next, and since I didn’t have any panties on to begin with, I step inside.

My muscles clench, back aching at the first spray of the water against my skin, but after a moment, it feels nothing short of amazing.

The sheer amount of sweat covering my body is disgusting, and I pull on all my strength to wash effectively, working on my hair last. I let the conditioner sit for a minute, then just lean my head back and let the pressure of the spray do all the work getting it out.

I climb from the shower, too weak to do much but pat at my hair and quickly dry what I can. I slip back into my robe and shuffle out.

The moment the door opens, Brady calls from my room, “In here!”

I move in, expecting to find him lying down, but when I enter, he’s fluffing the last of all eight of my pillows. My eyes fall to the pile of blankets on the floor and move back to the bed.

The plum-colored sheets have been stripped, replaced with my white-and-lavender set.

Brady pulls the blankets down to the foot of the bed, revealing the matching lavender sheets. Looks like he even changed the mattress pad out for the brand-new one I had at the top of my closet. I haven’t changed that since I moved in.

Finally, he looks back, doing a double take when he realizes I’m just standing here staring.

“You gonna come sit down or what?” he teases, patting the puffiest pillow settled against the headboard.

I want to run and jump into the pile. There is nothing better than fresh bedding, except maybe fresh bedding and freshly shaved legs. But we won’t talk about that right now and if I try to run—even two steps—I’m afraid I’ll get sick.

I walk over, climbing into the pile of pillows, and my eyes close on a heavy exhale, but then Brady is hauling me up.

“Don’t be mean. Let me sleep,” I whine, and he chuckles, settling in behind me.

“Almost. Just gotta brush your hair. ”

“Fine.” I pout.

He gathers my hair, making sure it’s all hanging down my back, and I wait for him to hand me the brush, but he doesn’t do that.

Starting at the tips like some kind of professional, Brady begins combing through the tangles in my hair. Little by little, he moves higher in the length, until he makes his way to the scalp.

He’s gentle around my face, brushing it back in a slicking motion and working through the length. He does this over and over, the bristles of the brush a massage against my scalp.

“God, that feels so good,” I moan.

His hand slips slightly, scraping the edge of my ear, and I yelp, making a throaty chuckle leave him. “I think the tangles are out now. Ready to get some sleep?”

I nod, though I’m not sure I’m all that tired. I feel exhausted, but I’ve done nothing but sleep all weekend. Terrible, tossy-turny sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

Brady kisses my head and stands, jerking his chin for me to move up to the pillows.

“Wait.” I reach out, gripping his fingers in case he tries to go. “You’re leaving?”

He raises a brow, his hand turning in mine until our fingers are laced together. “You think I put clean, germless sheets on for your sake?”

I press my tongue behind my teeth to fight a smile, scowling playfully.

“All right, fine, that was all for you, but no, I’m not leaving.

I do need to shower, though, and I can sleep on the couch if you want your bed to yourself.

I just need to be here to make sure you’re good.

” He reaches out, running his knuckles along my forehead before putting one under my chin, tipping my head up so he can look at me better.

“Too many days alone. You’re dehydrated. ”

“I don’t want to sleep alone, but I don’t want you to get sick,” I admit .

“Let me worry about me, all right?” His voice is almost a whisper.

His fingers squeeze mine, and then he turns and walks out of the room, the door to the bathroom closing a moment later.

I drop back onto the pillows with a sigh, stretching my hands until I can reach the remote on the bedside table. I flip through some movie options, but nothing catches my attention, and I decide Brady can pick.

My eyes move to the wall on the left. He’s on the other side, clearly having come here straight off the team bus. I’m sure he showered after the game, but there’s something about a long car ride that demands another rinse.

It was sweet of him to come by but not surprising. He’s always looking out for us girls. Well, I guess we all look out for each other, but Brady’s just…different. Better.

Speak of the devil, Brady walks in, black boxer briefs and a white tank top stretched tight against his skin.

“Okay.” He sets his dirty clothes in a pile and plops down, eyes closing and a long sigh leaving him the second he does. When his eyes open, they rise to meet mine, a smile on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I laugh lightly, looking at his wet hair. I want to smooth it from his forehead, run my hands along his fade, and see how it feels when it flits across my palm. So I do exactly that, smiling at how soft it is against my fingers. “Good game today. Still leading in stats, my badass baller.”

He rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. “You watched?”

“Of course I watched. You know we always watch.”

“Yeah, but no one was here with you, and you’re sick and…yeah.”

I narrow my eyes teasingly. “And yeah, what?”

Brady shrugs his massive shoulders, the depths of his muscles somehow looking even more defined, but there’s a hint of tension tugging at his brows that gives him away .

“Brady?” I push.

“Nothing, it’s just Mason was back in the game tonight and whatnot, so…” Another shrug.

“Whatnot so…what?” What’s he getting at?

He nods, slowing bringing his eyes back to mine, and when they lock together, his gaze pins me there. “And Alister was sidelined the entire game.”

I push up on my hand, tugging his hair a little harder than necessary. “Are you for real right now?”

He holds my gaze, a steady blankness to his own, but he can only manage it a solid three seconds and then he’s laughing, his head dropping to the blankets before looking back up with a grin. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”