I close my eyes again, unsure why my stomach is twisting. I’m just the nanny. I never expected to be anything more, but seeing him being so kind makes me wonder if he just hates me. What else would explain how snappy he is to me the majority of the time? My bottom lip quivers, and I hate that I even care. He doesn’t know me; of course he doesn’t like me.
What did I expect?
“Doctor,” I hear Mack say, and my eyes flutter open again.
There’s a tall, greying man standing at the door. He shakes Mack’s hand and then he’s by my side.
“Hi Jaylah, I’m Doctor Williamson. How are you feeling?”
“Crap,” I croak.
He nods, understanding. “I’m just going to check you over.”
He spends the next ten minutes checking me, and then he goes over whatever he finds with Mack, giving him a script. They shake hands again and then he leaves. Mack turns to Santana and murmurs something to her, and then he’s gone.
I close my eyes again, not wishing to speak.
I just want to sleep.
~*~*~*~
Mack brings home a heap of stuff, and I take whatever he hands me. I manage to push myself off the couch after a few hours and have a shower, and then I drop into bed. I pull the covers over me, still freezing. My head is spinning, and I keep mumbling to myself, even though I’m not trying to. It just happens. I’m about to drift off again when the covers on my bed are jerked back.
I’d protest, but when I try my voice comes out garbled.
Another cool cloth is pressed to my forehead and I squeak, my throat burning too much to do any more. “You’ve got a fever. You can’t have that cover on,” Mack informs me.
I want to plead, but I can’t. Instead, tears leak out of my eyes and run down my cheeks. He reaches out, swiping one away with his finger before murmuring, “You’re goin’ to be just fine.”
He sits beside me, running the cloth over my head until I shake myself to sleep. I would swear I wake up during the night to find him beside me, but that couldn’t be right. He has no reason to stay beside me. I even feel cool hands stroking my cheeks and a warm kiss to my forehead, but that couldn’t be right either.
Mack doesn’t even like me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m sick for three days, but by the fourth I’m feeling much better. Santana brings Diesel home and I get back to my routine of taking care of him. Mack made no indication that it was him helping me during the nights I was sick, but I know it was. The first night I was out of it, but the other two I know he came in and helped me. Sometimes he would wipe my face, and others he’d simply stroke the hair from my forehead.
But he was there, and it meant something to me.
He’s not saying a word, and I have a strong feeling he doesn’t want me to say anything either. So I don’t. I go on, pretending nothing happened. After he left this morning, I sighed and leaned against the counter in the kitchen, rubbing my temples. Honestly, the man is complicated. I honestly don’t know if he likes me or if he hates me.
He’s so confusing.
I’ve just put Diesel down for a nap and have just pulled a fresh batch of cookies from the oven—no, I didn’t bake them, it’s called rolled cookie dough—when a knock sounds out at the door. I skip over, feeling good, so glad to be past the cold. The cookies are just because I’m trying to make Mack realize I’m not so bad to have around. I swing the door open and face a man so like Mack, I actually gasp.He’s shorter than Mack, but both share the same dark brown eyes and long, thick hair. This man is bigger in regards to muscle tone; he resembles Maddox in that department. He’s quite built. He’s got something else in his eyes, though. Something evil. I can see it the moment our gazes connect. Still, I plaster a smile on my face. For all I know this could be Mack’s friend, hell, maybe his brother. I’m not about to be rude.
“Hi.” I grin.
He studies me, and then in a low purr, says, “Hi.”
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I’m looking for Mack,” he says, and his eyes very clearly fall to my breasts that are pushed up slightly because of the top I’m wearing. Yuck.
“He’s not here right now. Can I help you?”
He studies me longer before asking, “Who are you?”
“Me?” I wave a hand. “His nanny.”
I swear his face flinches.
“You datin’ him?”
Huh?
“Ah, no.”
He nods sharply. “Tell him Benito came by. I want to talk to him.”
“Of course,” I say, my voice still chipper. Then I get a bright idea, prompted by my need not to piss anyone off that’s close to Mack. “Wait, before you go, let me give you a cookie.”
I turn and rush off, but not before a confused look washes over his face. I lift two cookies and place them in a napkin, and then I turn and rush back, handing them to him. He stares at them, looks back at me, and then stares down again.
“I just made them,” I inform him.
He just stares.
“Oh my God, you’re not allergic, are you?”
He looks up at me, completely dumbfounded. “Cookies?”
“Yes, you’re not allergic to cookies?”
“Ah, no.”
“Right, well, I hope you like them. I’ll tell Mack you called.”
He tilts his head to the side, but after a moment, nods and leaves.
Great, I’m making progress.