OUR FIGHT

4 • he wants me, he wants me not [part 1]

* 2 weeks after "drunk in bubbly" *

• • • • • •

I feel like total shit.

I mean, it's not unusual for me to feel like "ugh" when I have to do laundry, but this time I'm convinced I might actually collapse.

With my legs crossed on the fluffy white carpet, I lean back on the lower half of the couch while I finish folding a sweatshirt. Everything is fresh out of the dryer, and the warmth of the pile is the only thing keeping me from vomiting. Mom and Dad have an event tonight and will soon be dropping off little Aurora for the night and the majority of tomorrow, so I'm hoping to finish this load of laundry before they arrive... although I highly doubt it's going to happen. I wonder if I can somehow convince a five-year-old to fold clothes for me. Is it possible?

I turn my head around when I hear Saxon's footsteps thud down the stairs swiftly. The only item of clothing he wears is a pair of black shorts, his breathtaking chest and long legs out on display. This sight never gets old.

"Hey," he greets and holds up two white towels for me to see as he makes his way to the door to the garage. "I'm gonna go workout. Wanna join?"

I give him a sad smile. "Not today, babe... I'm not feeling so hot."

He stops in his tracks with a frown.

"Again?" he asks, walking over slowly. He crouches beside me and places a hand on my forehead with furrowed eyebrows. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor."

"No need, I'm fine," I wave him off.

"I'm no doctor, baby girl, but I think it'd be a good idea if you saw one. You've been feeling weak as fuck for a week now."

"I'm fine," I repeat gently, removing his hand from my face. Giving up on my responsibilities, I push away the pile of clothes and climb onto the couch. "It's probably just a stomach bug, and the best way to fight that is to sleep, so that's what I'm gonna do."

I lay on my side and snuggle into the blanket that Saxon covers me with. He watches me with concern.

"You better not be faking an illness to get out of working out with me," he crosses his arms.

"I would never," I flash a sickly sweet smile, to which he raises a challenging brow. "Wake me up when my parents get here, okay?"

"Mhm." He presses his lips against my cheek before trotting off. Butterflies appear in my stomach when I notice a bulge in his shorts swing as he walks. Suddenly I'm not feeling sick anymore.

The garage door opens and shuts, so I close my eyes with an exhale. Lately, naps have become my favorite part of the day, as I'm able to escape the achiness for a little while. When my body says it needs rest, I certainly don't ignore it.

The music Saxon cranks up in the garage doesn't stop me from passing out in literal seconds. I slip off into an easy, dreamless sleep that I bask in comfortably. It numbs all of the physical pain that I've been enduring for a while, specifically my throbbing feet from standing in the salon all day every day and the slight tightness in my stomach.

I don't know how long I'm asleep, but it's one of the best naps I've had in a while. I'm completely relaxed... no nausea, no pain... and I desperately pray that this physical peace will continue once I wake up—