“See?” I pull in a full, deep breath, and it’s glorious. “All good. I could probably go out for a run now.”
She frowns, unconvinced. “You will absolutely not be running tonight.” She reaches to unlace my shoes, tugging them off one at a time. “Except maybe to the bathroom.”
“So romantic, Rossi,” I mutter.
“Hey, I’m keeping it real.” She drops my shoes on the floor and straightens up, hands on her hips. “Now sit up.”
I obey, and she moves closer, reaching for the buttons of my shirt. “Let’s get this off, Coach Marco.”
My brain is foggy from the medicine, but not so foggy that I don’t appreciate the irony here. “You know,” I say as her fingers workthe first button, “when I imagined you taking off my shirt, I pictured this moment very differently.”
Her hands still for just a second, and I catch the ghost of a smile. “How different?”
“For starters, I wouldn’t be covered in hives and hopped up on Benadryl.”
She moves to the second button, pointedly not meeting my eyes, like she’s trying to maintain her self-control.
“And I’d be significantly more conscious,” I add.
“That does seem like it would improve the experience.” The third button comes undone, and I’m transfixed by the way her hair falls forward and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.
“And you’d be enjoying yourself more,” I say, just to see her reaction.
She looks up then. “Who says I’m not enjoying myself?”
“Rossi, are you flirting with me while I’m dying?”
“You’re not dying, Coach.” She’s smiling now as she undoes the last button. “Sit up.”
I raise myself off the bed so she can tug the shirt off my arms. Her fingers brush my skin, and even through the antihistamine haze, my skin tingles.
“You know what?” I say as she tosses my shirt onto the chair. “You’d make a good coach.”
“Oh yeah?” She’s pulling back the covers now, all business. “Why’s that?”
“You’re excellent at bossing people around.”
She shoots me a look. “Is that a compliment or complaint?”
“Definitely a compliment.” I’m sinking back into the pillows, everything going hazy around the edges. “And you’re way better looking than most coaches.”
“Most?” She sits on the edge of the bed, amused by this conversation.
“Well, I am pretty good-looking,” I mumble, my eyes already closing.
She laughs, and even in my state, my whole body soaks up thesound of it. “I’m glad to see your ego survived the allergic reaction.”
“My ego is indestructible,” I confirm.
“And…your humor’s back too,” she says, moving off the bed. I catch her hand before she can pull away.
“But seriously, Scarlett—” I peel open my eyes. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
She studies me. “What else can I get you?”
“Just you.” Even though my body still isn’t feeling right, her presence is making everything better.
“You need water. And sleep.” She pulls away and I hate the way it feels when she’s not next to me.