He continued to look at the wall, patiently waiting for me. The shivers grew worse, and I debated my stubbornness. With his hair pulled back, I could clearly see his eyes and knew he wasn’t peeking. Yet, I didn’t understand why he continued with his own pigheadedness and wouldn’t just leave to let me do the rest.
As if he’d read my mind, he nodded his head toward the shower and tapped the tub with his booted foot.
I looked down at the high ledge. The shivers prevented any coordinated movement. If not for Clay’s support, I would have fallen when stepping out of my pants. Suddenly, he made sense.
“You’re s-staying until I’m in? So I don’t fall?” I guessed.
He shrugged, and I knew I’d guessed right.
With a defeated sigh, I uncrossed my arms and clasped his hand. The showerhead angled toward the front of the tub so I could step in without getting my remaining clothes wet. He closed the curtain behind me, and I waited to hear the click of the door.
Once I knew left, I finished undressing. I tossed my things on the bathroom floor and stepped into the hot spray.
It felt so good that I stayed there, just standing under the spray for several long minutes. My only movement was a slight side-to-side rocking motion to keep all of me as warm as possible. The shivers lessened but didn’t disappear. I began to worry they weren’t really due to the cold. My energy continued to drain , and my headache progressed to a steady thump. When I heard the click of the door again, I knew I’d pushed it.
“Clay?”
I heard a grunt, but peeked around the curtain to be sure. He held out a towel with his eyes closed. I turned off the water and grabbed the towel.
It took a moment to wrap the towel securely around me. Covered, I peeked out again. Clay faced the door but had a hand extended to help me. Clasping it again, I stepped from the shower. I was warmer but more exhausted than when I’d gotten in.
I hustled as best I could to my room. Clay remained outside the door as I threw on the warmest pajamas I owned and did my best to blot the water that dripped from my hair. My arms quickly grew too tired, and all the heat I’d gained from the shower left me. Giving up, I tossed the towel to the floor, crawled between the covers, and curled into a ball. I couldn’t even rub my feet together to try to generate more heat.
Clay walked in and turned off the lights. I listened to the familiar rustle of clothes. Instead of the usual bounce of him jumping up on the end of the bed, he peeled back the covers, and the bed dipped as he slid in next to me.
I didn’t bother to pretend I wasn’t interested in what he offered. Heat radiated from him, chasing the chill from the sheets.
“I really hope you’re wearing shorts or something,” I said with a slight slur. I stuck my cold feet right on his legs and shimmied over to his side to huddle against his warmth. Boy, was he warm. It didn’t matter, though. The shaking didn’t stop, but I was too exhausted to worry about it.
Sighing, I immediately fell asleep.
Bright light filled the room when I peeled my eyes open, still barely conscious. I lay against Clay, basking in his warmth. My headache had faded from a steady thump to an annoying dull ache. I felt drained and very tired.
I tilted my head and met Clay’s observant gaze. Worry glazed the chocolate brown depths. I tried to swallow, but the muscles didn’t want to work.
“I’m thirsty,” I rasped.
He gently moved me and got out of bed. I closed my eyes; I didn’t want him to prove me wrong about the shorts. After a few seconds of silence, I forced my eyes back open. He stood next to the bed, holding out a full glass of water.
Shakily, I leveraged myself up on an elbow and grasped the glass. The cool water felt good going down. I drank it all and handed him the empty glass. He watched me curl up with my pillow.
I closed my eyes.
The next time I woke, I checked my alarm clock. The red digits showed two in the afternoon. Turning my head on the pillow, I happily noted the absence of weakness and pain. Whatever I’d done to cause my sudden illness, over sixteen hours of sleep appeared to have helped.
Gingerly, so as not to bring my symptoms back, I boosted myself into a sitting position. Clay no longer lay beside me. I glanced at my closed bedroom door. He must have gotten bored watching me sleep. I didn’t blame him.
Although I could have slept longer, I pulled myself from bed. I grabbed my books then hopped back into my warm nest of blankets. Pillows stacked up behind me, I spread the work out. I’d lost a night and most of today because of the party. I couldn’t afford to lose more time. I still had a few assignments from Friday to finish. In addition, I needed to review the prior week’s materials to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
After about fifteen minutes, I smelled bacon. My stomach growled loudly. The aroma tempted me to leave my warm bed. As I sat thinking about closing my book, the door opened fractionally, and Clay peered in. When he saw me sitting up, he nudged the door further to show a plate of food and a glass of juice. His appearance ended my internal debate and saved me from exposure to the cold.
“Thank you. I’m starving.” I moved the book to the side, and he handed me the plate with a fork and set the orange juice on the dresser. I dug in right away, not realizing the extent of my hunger until the first bite touched my tongue. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast vanished in minutes.
Without a word, Clay handed me the glass of juice.
I drank it slowly, starting to feel the pull of sleep. Resisting it would prove difficult. I patted the bed next to me.
“Want to read by me?” Maybe company would help keep me awake.
He flashed me a smile, collected the dishes, and left the room. I heard him move around in the kitchen. The sound of running water had me wrinkling my nose; I knew I’d need to risk the cool air once again for a quick visit to the bathroom.
When I dashed back into my room eager for the warm bed, I saw Clay already lounging on the covers. He was reading a book.
We spent the rest of the day together in my room. Clay read next to me while I paged through notes and completed assignments. Each of the few times he left my side, he returned with a drink for me.
Near dinner, Clay closed his book with a snap and left the room. I heard Rachel’s car pull into the driveway a few moments later. Before I heard her car door close, he returned wearing his fur again. Somewhere in the house, Rachel would see a pile of clothes.
I grinned at him as he jumped up on the end of the bed. He settled with a sigh, and I stretched out to tuck my feet under his warm body.
Chapter 14
Monday morning I felt better and got ready for class under Clay’s scrutiny. He didn’t voice any complaint when I left, but I knew he worried that a full day so soon after recovering would overtax me. And he was right. By the last class of the day, I wanted to go to bed.
Dinner waited when I got home; two steaming bowls sat on the table. I dropped my bag next to the back door and flopped into the closest kitchen chair. Soup. Perfect. Clay picked up my bag and carried it into my room while I started to eat. After the first bite, I eyed the contents. I couldn’t remember buying it and guessed he’d somehow managed to go grocery shopping.
He rejoined me and sat across the table. We ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Are you going to tell me about the coveralls or where you got the money for groceries?”
He shrugged in response.
Sighing, I pushed my bowl away. “I know I’m supposed to start asking you a bunch of questions, but I’m still too tired. Just don’t be doing anything illegal, ‘K? It would be hard to visit you in jail on top of school.”