Realizing I had to get a grip, I snapped back to the present. Holy moly, I could barely think when he was around. “Right, um, I got you a few things from the store.” I pointed toward the sink. “A toothbrush, toothpaste. You know, the usual.” I smiled, pretending his whisper of a smile wasn’t causing a slight head rush. “But if you need anything else…”
His demeanor changed in a heartbeat. Pain etched his face as he snaked an arm around his stomach. “I feel wrong,” he said, grabbing the doorframe of the bathroom for stability.
“Wrong, how?” I asked, concern raising my voice an octave.
“I don’t know. Just wrong.” His stomach muscles seemed to contract. He clutched at his midsection and fell to his knees.
“Jared!”
Before I could kneel beside him, he lunged toward the toilet. He swallowed several times and I could almost feel the acidic bile as it rose up and burned the back of his throat. It refused to be squelched. Everything he had just eaten wound up in the toilet in a succession of violent purges.
With empathy guiding my every move, I jumped up to wet a washcloth, then knelt down and rested it on his forehead.
Breathing heavily into the toilet, he said, “Wrong like that.”
After I flushed the commode, I wiped the cloth over his face, being careful not to reopen any wounds. “You’re human now,” I said in my best scolding voice. “At least a part of you is. You have to be more careful.”
“I have to clean my mouth.”
I helped him to his feet. He shook, suddenly weak and pallid. And he was so tall, well over six feet, but I did my best to get him to the sink.
After he brushed his teeth, I filled a cup with water and tried to hand it to him. His doubt kept him from searching for it.
“You’re dehydrated,” I said as I placed the cup in his hands. “Take small sips.”
“I don’t feel dehydrated.”
“No matter, you are. Two days without H2O will do that to a person.” When he still didn’t drink, I pushed the cup up to his mouth. “We don’t have a very big water heater, so we run out of the hot stuff pretty fast. You might want to shower quickly.”
“Okay.”
I turned and pointed out the necessities. “Soap, shampoo, conditioner, a razor if you need one.” I had to admit, I liked the shadow along his jaw, but he might not.
“Thank you,” he said as he gingerly lifted his shirt over his head.
I turned from him with a gasp. Did six-packs get any sexier? “Um, okay, then. I’ll be downstairs.”
“Lorelei?”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
After a moment, he said, “Thank you for the toothbrush.”
I smiled. “Yeah, well, you saved my life and all. It’s the least I could do.”
His silent laugh caused a rush of warmth as I closed the door. Then, with thoughts of melted cheese driving me, I hustled downstairs for a sandwich myself. Glitch had a magic touch with grilled cheeses. I could live off them if I had to.
“How is he?” Brooklyn asked.
“I’m not sure.” I took an orange soda out of the fridge and jumped onto a stool beside her. “He got sick.”
Glitch had the gall to look offended. “You mean he ate three of my sandwiches and then just threw them up?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“Yeah, for him,” I said with a bit of peevishness. “Not you, sandwich boy.”
“Hey, you want one of these or not?”
“Of course.”
He studied me suspiciously and pointed his spatula. “You’re not going to throw it up, are you?”
“Not likely.”
“Wait,” he said, suddenly smiling, “where’d you find it?”
I reached for my necklace with a smile of my own. “Jared had it. It must have come off when we were in the back of Cameron’s pickup.”
“Oh, right,” Cameron said, “when he was trying to choke the life out of you. That makes perfect sense.”
He sat at the breakfast table in the corner, sipping a Dr Pepper.
I chose to ignore his sarcasm. “Have you eaten yet?” I asked him.
“He doesn’t get another one,” Glitch said, waving his spatula as if it were a magic wand. “Five is the house limit.”
I whistled, impressed. “Well, I’m starving. Pass one over, pretty please.”
Sinking into a grilled and cheesy heaven, I devoured Glitch’s sandwich in less than five minutes along with a few chips and an apple for dessert. Afterwards, I sat chatting with Brooke and sandwich boy, all the while keeping track of how long Jared had been in the shower. And it was an awfully long time, much longer than the hot water would have lasted. I couldn’t keep from looking up toward my room every few seconds.
Brooklyn noticed. “Why don’t you just go check on him?”
“Okay,” I said, needing little encouragement. I jumped from the stool and raced upstairs. The shower was still on, the door still closed.
I knocked lightly. When he didn’t answer, I cracked open the door.
“Jared?”
When he still didn’t answer, my heart leapt in alarm. What if he got sick again? What if he’d passed out? Or worse. What if he disappeared back to wherever it was he came from?
With worry driving me forward, I rushed into the tiny room and pulled back the curtain. Then I gasped and stood frozen a solid minute. Jared stood under the rushing water, naked. And not just a little. He’d lifted one arm and braced it against the wall to rest his head upon. The other hand had grasped the pipe that led to the showerhead. His eyes were closed as ice-cold water sheeted off his shoulders and down his back.