One Night with a Hero by Laura Kaye

down.
    He pushed onto one elbow and did as he was told.
    “Did you get sick again while I was gone?”
    He shook his head and took another cautious sip of soda.
    “Do you want to try some crackers?”
    “Better not, yet.”
    “Okay.” She stroked her hand over his forehead. His hair was damp with feverish sweat. “Be right back.”
    In his bathroom, she couldn’t find a washcloth, but at least there was a hand towel. She soaked it in cool water and wrung it out, then returned to Brady. He’d collapsed back onto the pillow.
    “This is going to be cold, Brady, but we have to get this fever down.”
    He gave a nod. She laid the towel over his forehead and pressed its length against his ears and neck. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth.
    “I know. I’m sorry.”
    His eyelids sagged and finally closed.
    Joss slipped across to her house and retrieved the thermometer, then on a whim she grabbed her book, too.
    “I thought I’d dreamed you,” he said when she leaned over him a few minutes later.
    She smiled. “Nope. I’m here. And I want to take your temp. Open up.” His eyes fell closed while the instrument beeped and the numbers climbed. This was really bad. She removed it from his mouth when it was done.
    “What’s the verdict, doc? Will I live?”
    Ah, there was the smart-ass she knew and…liked. “It’s 103.4, Brady. If this doesn’t go down, we should get you to a doctor.”
    “I’ll be all right.”
    “Just rest. We’ll check again in a while.”
    “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes rolling for a moment before falling shut.
    She pulled his door mostly closed, debated for a moment, then turned on the hall light and took a seat on the top step. If his fever got any higher, he was going to be in some serious trouble. She didn’t want to leave him.
    It took a few minutes to get comfortable—or as comfortable as she could get sitting on hardwood steps—but after a while her book sucked her in and she didn’t notice her butt going numb anymore.
    Joss wasn’t sure how long had passed when Brady came stumbling out of his bedroom.
    “Hey,” he rasped.
    She stood and tried not to stare at the miles of bare, muscled skin. “Hey. Any better?”
    He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Gimme a minute.” He disappeared into the bathroom and Joss prayed she didn’t hear him throwing up again. Not because she couldn’t stomach it—she worked with kids, for goodness’ sake, so she’d dealt with her fair share of bodily fluids. She just wanted him to get better.
    The door opened a few minutes later and Brady leaned against the jamb, dark circles marring the skin under his dull eyes, forehead furrowed in pain. “No puke. Yay.”
    She chuckled. “Want a Popsicle?”
    His eyes went wide. “Aw, yeah.”
    “Go get in bed.” She went downstairs and grabbed three. One for herself, two for him, just in case he was up for it. When she’d returned to his room, he was sitting up against a stack of pillows. “Temperature first, Popsicles second.”
    She handed him the thermometer. He patted the mattress beside him, indicating she should sit, so she took a seat next to his knees while they waited. The reading came back at 101.9.
    “Better, but still not great. Fluids will help. Red, orange, or purple?”
    “Red. Obviously.”
    She unwrapped and passed it to him. She chose the grape.
    He moaned as he sucked on it.
    Joss bit down on the smart-ass remarks flitting through her brain and settled on feeling satisfied she could help him, even a little.
    “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he said.
    “Glad you like it. I slaved all day.”
    He swallowed a frozen chunk he’d bitten off. “When we’re done, wanna have sex?”
    Joss gaped at him. He waggled his eyebrows, and she burst out laughing. “You’re such an ass.”
    Brady grinned and opened the orange Popsicle. He tipped it to her before giving it a lick.
    “Do you think you could try some chicken noodle?”
    He grimaced.