Midnight sun

15 | Noah

I can't believe he brought me soup. Home-made, chicken, the ultimate cold medicine, delicious soup. I never had someone drive so long to see me and bring me soup just because I fell ill with a simple cold.

The things I want to say to him to express my gratitude are embarrassing so I just stare stupidly at him, standing at my front door.

"You better get back inside, you look like you're about to pass out."

I clutch the soft blanket I wrapped around my shoulders and move to let him in. "I'm sorry, just can't believe you came over."

"I was just about to eat too. It's no big deal."

No, not a big deal. It's huge. Now all my shameless flirting, efforts to get this man in bed are just making me feel stupid. I am definitely not someone who is worth the trouble. He's right, I'm just a kid. A kid who has no clue how to deal with the attraction that I've been feeling for this guy since the moment I've seen him. Instead of behaving with some sort of respect, restraint–I've been throwing myself at him like I'm still back in Cincinnati working at bars and flirting my way through men just so they buy me drinks and take me to restaurants or their homes so I could have a bed to sleep in. I feel embarrassed that Dylan is even giving me a second thought, that he might actually like me. There's nothing to like about me. I'm a glorified man whore. I'm a nobody.

"Hey. Where did you go?" A strong, cold hand is pressing against my forehead. And then slowly glides down to the back of my neck. I shiver part from how cold his palm feels on my skin part from how deliciously possessive that palm feels on my neck. "I think you should lie down, you're burning up."

"Um..." His touch brings me back to that day, the feel of his hands gripping my arms so I don't trip, and then me, just standing there like an idiot, going for a kiss. What was I thinking? Even if he liked me, a guy like Dylan would never cheat on his boyfriend. And the boyfriend who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. "Yeah, I think you're right. My room is upstairs."

Both my uncle and aunt are away for their anniversary–they are celebrating it in Anchorage, so the house is empty as I lead Dylan to my very modest room. I hesitate before I open the door, unsure of what exactly is he doing here. He could have just given me the soup and left– I know how to use a microwave.

He takes off his shoes by the door, comes in and wordlessly starts unloading the bag. I see that it's not only the soup that he brought. There are boxes of cold medicine and tea bags, a thermometer and a paperback novel.

"I wasn't sure how dire the situation was, so I figured better safe than sorry," Dylan says, and plops down on the bed as there is nowhere else to sit. He is just so big and long-limbed on my small bed, looking around, curiously taking everything in. It's sparse. I have very few personal belongings, and the place has that hotel room air about it.  But he is in my bedroom. Is the fever making me hallucinate already? I rarely get this ill, it just hit me out of nowhere but now I'm kind of glad because Dylan is here.

"Won't your boyfriend mind this?" I make a vague gesture with my hand, pointing at the two of us as my headache suddenly feels like sharp spikes pushing into my brain. I decide to sit down.

Dylan glances at me, then at the medicine he has in his hands. He hesitates before finally responding. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"That was not your boyfriend?" I was hoping the very naked man from his house wasn't important to him, but all this time it was constantly in the back of my mind. Men like Dylan most certainly are not alone. He is the whole package.

"Nope."

"What was he doing in your house?"

"Should I really explain to you what a guy was doing in my house?" He says and his voice suggests that he's considering the fact that I might be an idiot. "I mean, I can. If you're not familiar with the term hook up, it's when one person has sex with another person with no strings attached."