Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
And I do focus. I stare at the first page for a long time.
But I don’t read a single word.
Night falls. A few more hours pass. I make dinner. Reed hasn’t moved.
Leaden dread fills my stomach. Is he sicker than I realized? He hasn’t shifted around on the bed. Not once.
Is he dead?
I should never have a baby. I don’t even like Reed, but I’m still tiptoeing over to check whether he’s breathing. A kid that I loved would never get any sleep with me hovering over them.
My heart thudding, I lean over his mouth and listen. There. A breath. Then another.
He’s not dead.
My relief is short-lived when I place my hand on his forehead. Even without a thermometer, there’s no doubt. His fever is much worse.
Shit. I rush across the cabin, grab the ibuprofen and fill a glass of water.
“Reed!” I urgently whisper-hiss his name, then realize I don’t need to be quiet. The point is to wake him up. “Reed!”
He mumbles and turns his head.
“Reed! You’re burning up! Sit up for a minute.”
His eyes open and he manages a disoriented, “Huh?”
“Come on, sit up. Your fever is worse, so you need to take this medicine.”
His eyelids squeeze shut. “Head hurts.”
“The medicine will help that, too. Come now, let’s get you up.”
It takes another minute to elevate him high enough to take the pills and water. I help his shaking hand support the glass through a few swallows.
He’s still completely out of it when we’re done. He looks around the cabin, blinking in confusion.
“Harris?”
“He’s not here.”
He focuses his bleary gaze on me. “Abbie.”
“That’s me.” I still can’t believe he remembered my name.
“You’re not pretty.”
Oh fuck. That cuts deep. It shouldn’t. I don’t care what this asshole thinks of me. But it still hurts and I jerk back from the bed as if stabbed.
“Vibrant.” He lies back onto his pillow and a blissful expression comes over his face as he regards me. “That’s the word I was looking for. Not pretty. You’re vibrant. Like a fire. Burning warm and bright. Alive. A-lively.” His brow furrows. “Lovely. Beautiful.”
Usually when I’m blindsided, I laugh and joke to cover any nervousness or disbelief. But Reed knocks me so far past ‘surprised’ that I flip all the way back around to serious.
“You must be really sick.” It’s the only explanation for what he just said.
“I’m hot.” A plaintive note enters his voice, and I suddenly have an image of him as a three year old. He begins pushing off the blankets.
Before he reveals more than his bare stomach, I grab half the covers and pull them back up. “I know you’re hot, but the cabin will get very cold soon.” My god, I’m even talking to him like he’s a three year old. “So at least keep the sheet and this blanket on. And I’ve got a wet washcloth here, see? It’s nice and cool. We’ll put it on your forehead. How does that feel?”
His eyes close. “Feels better.”
“Good.” You big man-baby. “Do you want anything to eat before you go back to sleep?”
“Just you. I’d eat you up.” A little smile curls his lips. “I bet you’d be sweet.”
Blindsided again. “Sweet? Have you met me?”
“You’re taking care of me. That’s sweet.”
“That doesn’t mean I would be,” I say dryly. “I’m far more tart than sweet.”
“Piquant, then. All over my tongue.”
He’s wearing a blissful expression again, with his eyes closed and that little smile curving his mouth. His breath evens out. Already asleep—while my heart is thundering away. I stare at him, a million naughty thoughts racing through my head.
The naughtiest and worst of them all: Maybe he’s not so bad.
I whirl away from the bed. Am I really trying to make myself believe Reed Knowles is a better person just because he said I was vibrant? And beautiful? And because I think he suggested that he’d enjoy eating me out, though it’s far more likely that he has cannibalistic tendencies?
I’m not that naïve. Or that susceptible to flattery. I’m not.
It’s just…it is pleasant to hear a kind word now and then. Though I’d rather hear those compliments from someone I care about, not from a mortal enemy. Maybe I’m trying to make him into a better person so that his words matter more. So I can take them to heart and believe them.
But I know better than that. Every shitty boyfriend I’ve ever had knew how to say nice things, and the ones who cheated were especially good at it. Hell, even my mother knows how to say nice things. But her compliments always come with an agenda attached, so the real trick is figuring out what she wants.
What I want is for those kind words to be genuine. Though I suppose Reed spoke the truth, because he seemed too disoriented to manipulate or lie. That doesn’t make him a good guy.