Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(37)

“That’s okay,” she says, her voice soothing. “Just give me the address of your friend’s place, and I’ll take you there and get you settled. Will your friend be home? I don’t think you should be left on your own.”

“His name is Grant,” I mumble, resting my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window. “He’s on the hockey team, and I’m pretty sure he’ll be training.”

Georgia gasps. “Like, the hockey team? Wow, okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m rollin’ with it.”

I haven’t told her that I’m staying with one of Jason’s teammates. I guess I was worried that would make me sound like some kind of slut, jumping from bed to bed, but Georgia doesn’t seem to be judging me. She just seems surprised.

I guess I am too. I never would have imagined how sweet Grant could be.

When I give her the address, she punches it into her phone, and we’re off. Only ten more minutes of my brain and stomach battling at who can spin the fastest before I’m tucked safely into bed.

When I unlock the door to the condo, Georgia close behind me, I expect Hobbes to run to the door. What I don’t expect is for Grant to follow. Hobbes scampers up to me, jumping and barking with pure elation that I’ve come home unexpectedly.

Grant steps into the hall, a plate of toast in his hands. He’s wearing athletic track pants that stretch around his muscular thighs and a T-shirt that accentuates his bulky chest and arms. I would laugh at the look of surprise on his face if I weren’t so terrified of puking on his nice wood floor.

“Hey,” he says as he approaches, his brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, wow. Hello.” Georgia giggles with a small wave, and I roll my eyes.

Not the time.

“I’m just not feeling well,” I say with a grimace.

Before I can continue, Grant’s hands are on my shoulders, his torso bent over to align our faces. He brushes his fingers against my cheek, and I involuntarily lean into the cool touch.

“You’re really flushed.”

“Well, I was pale before, so that’s good?”

“Let’s get you in bed. It’s down the hall, third door on the left,” he tells Georgia, who gently guides me in that direction. “I’ll grab some water and a cool cloth.”

“You didn’t tell me your friend was smokin’ hot,” she whispers in my ear, and I snort.

“Hard to bring up in conversation.” I sigh, but a smile twitches my lips. Glad she agrees.

“Um, not that hard,” Georgia says. She helps me under the covers with a promise to bring me a cup of tea in, and I quote, “Tea minus three minutes.” After sliding the small trash can over to my bedside, just in case, she scurries off to the kitchen.

I can vaguely make out the sounds of Georgia’s pleasant voice introducing herself to Grant, followed by his deep baritone. Guess you can add “meet the friends” to the list of situations I’m not emotionally prepared for. Not that Grant and I are . . . Never mind.

Georgia comes back in the room moments later with a cup of steaming tea in her hands. “Here you go, some nice Mint Medley. He’s got a decent stash of tea for a dude.”

“I bought the tea,” I say with a small smirk, accepting the cup.

She nods. “Ah, that makes more sense.”

I blow on the tea, still a little too hot to sip. Georgia watches me with x-ray vision eyes.

“I’m really okay,” I tell her.

“Are you sure?” she asks, glancing at her phone.

“I’m sure. I still have no idea why I passed out like that.”

She gives me a sad little nod. “You just stay in bed and rest. As for me . . . I guess I could still go back to work. I’ve got a few appointments later today. And the tips these folks give are always—” She pauses, bringing her thumb and forefinger together into an A-OK sign with a wink.

“Please, go. You’ve done enough.”

Debating, she bites her lip. Finally, she claps her hands together and stands.

“Okay, if you insist. But you must know, I’m only leaving because you’re clearly in good hands.” She winks. “Good, strong hands.” She winks again. “Good, strong, sexy hands.”

“Stop,” I say on a groan, but I can’t hide my chuckle.

“Good, strong, sexy, large—”

“Good-bye, Georgia!” I say louder than necessary.

She blows me a kiss on her way out the door. I listen to her say some lengthy good-byes to Grant, likely threatening him with promises to call the police and accuse him of kidnapping me if he doesn’t take good care of me. Just normal friend stuff.

I hum a contented smile, my dizziness finally slowing to a faint spin. I take a small sip of tea. It’s still a little too hot but the mint is calming, so I take another sip. Once all the tea has hit my belly and my legs and fingers feel warm again, I snuggle under the covers.

What a weird day.

I close my eyes, which proves to be a mistake. The room spins again, the blackness behind my closed eyes only making me feel more untethered. My stomach lurches, and I know I have about ten seconds before all that minty goodness comes rushing up again.

I throw off the duvet and rush to the bedroom door, swinging it open with what little energy I have. I bolt across the hall past Grant, who slams his body against the wall to make room. I’m barely bent over the toilet before the tea, orange juice, oatmeal, and God knows what else comes out of me. I try not to think too hard about it. Instead, I take slow breaths, steadying my breathing as tears sting my eyes. I hate throwing up. Hate, hate, hate it.