She woke up again, thinking she’d slept another few hours, only to see twenty minutes had passed. The damn meds always dragged her under deeply, throwing off her sense of time.

“Hey.”

Cherisse’s eyes jumped to her bedroom door. Keiran. Oh, God, why? He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure how she’d react. If she had any energy at all, she’d throw a pillow at his head.

“No,” she said, tossing her cover over her head. “Why’re you still here?” Her voice came out muffled from under her blanket cocoon.

“I have soup. Remi said I could come up.” His voice sounded closer.

“I’m gonna kill her.” Seriously, what was Remi even trying to pull with this?

“Not entirely sure this isn’t some set-up for me to face your wrath. She told me I should be able to find your room on my own, considering.”

Cherisse huffed, pulling the cover down just enough so she could glare at him over it. She was hyperaware of her hair falling out of the bun she’d wrestled it into at some point.

“Hi,” he grinned, gesturing with the tray. “It’s really good, promise.”

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, letting her cover fall away. “Did you make that?”

“Yes.” He placed the tray on her lap. “Can I sit?”

He’d made her soup. It was sweet. Nope. Stop that right now. She glared harder. “No.”

Seemingly unbothered by her curt reply, he stood there, rocking back on his heels. Why wasn’t he leaving? Was he actually going to watch her eat the damn soup?

“You served your purpose, you can go now.” She was being rude, but she hated being sick.

“You’re cute when you’re irritable.”

She ignored him and took a sip of the soup. Damn, that was delicious. “It’s good.”

“Course it is. I know what I’m about where soup’s concerned.”

She slurped up more soup. Her throat still ached, but the soup was easier to eat than anything too solid right now. More broth than anything else, with a bit of noodles, she could manage without too much pain. A round of honey and lime was in order after this or more of Remi’s tea. “You this eager to get yourself sick?”

He shrugged. Even feeling like death, she could appreciate his shoulders in that white t-shirt. She dipped her spoon in the soup again, brought it to her mouth so she wouldn’t actually say that. She felt grimy. God, she needed a shower, and he was here, being all nice and looking sexy. She hated it.

“I just wanted to check up on you, that’s it. Is it so wrong to want that?”

“Stop being nice and caring and shit.”

He cocked his head. “You saying I can’t be nice to you cuz we’re having sex?”

She let the spoon clang against the now-empty bowl. “I’m trying to prevent the catching of feelings and shit.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fall in love with you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Wasn’t sure she believed him, then thought she was being full of herself to think he’d fall in love with her. She blamed the germs that had invaded her body and the grogginess from the meds. He’d admitted to liking her, sure, and being hurt about Jerome. But that didn’t automatically mean he felt anything deeper, at least not to that extreme.