When he came back to the bed, he reclaimed my hand and I sighed. Tilting my head, I let it rest against his shoulder. “Is this okay?”
“Yep,” he said. “You’re fine.” He didn’t add anything, just kept scrolling through the options. I had no idea how many times we went through the channels over and over until he stopped on a show. “This will work.”
I frowned, but he turned the volume up as the credits rolled. Apparently, we’d found the show right at the beginning. Apparently, there was a whole marathon of Murder, She Wrote on. It was—nice.
After the third episode, Freddie put popcorn in the room’s microwave and grabbed us sodas. The scent of the buttered popcorn made my stomach growl. After the sixth one, I glanced at the door.
“Want to watch something else?”
“No.” I needed to pee though. “This is fine.” Especially since I kept zoning out. The television helped, but the headache throbbing behind my left eye seemed to be growing in intensity. At the next commercial break, I scooted off the bed and went to the bathroom.
When I came back, Freddie had traded out the empty cans for bottles of water. “You don’t look so good,” he said.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Then maybe we can take a nap?” He shoved a hand through his thick blond hair and twisted to sit sideways. “Maybe eat some more?”
None of that sounded good. The hot-cold sensation washing over me was uncomfortable. The headache was worse. At least the water bottles were cold and I pressed one to my face. My stomach twisted.
“Boo-Boo, what can I do?”
“Nothing,” I told him. “Not even sure why I feel this way, why my skin wants to itch off my body, or my heart is racing.” We were watching television.
Freddie grimaced. “Don’t focus on that.”
“Okay.” Easier said than done. “What do you want me to focus on?”
“The show. Me. Um…Hell, I brought books.” He was off the bed again and this time he went for his bag. When he came back, he had three paperbacks. “Remember when you would read to me?”
Flushed, I fanned my face with my hand and moved the water bottle to press against my neck. “I remember.”
“Well, I can read to you if you want.”
“We can watch the show too,” I offered. “It’s okay. I’m just—maybe I’m getting a cold?”
“Maybe.” Freddie raised his hand toward me, then hesitated. “Can I?”
I lowered the water bottle and nodded. Freddie wouldn’t hurt me. With a light touch, he pressed his much cooler palm to my forehead. His frown deepened.
“Told you I was hot.”
He snorted. “Too easy.”
A hint of laughter escaped around the pain throbbing in my skull with my heartbeat. “I am not.”
Grinning, for real, Freddie shifted his hand to my nape and I closed my eyes. His hand was so cold. “Yeah, you’re on fire, Boo-Boo. Cold shower or ice.”
“I can do a cold shower.” I’d done those before. He plucked the water bottle from my hand and then offered to help me up, but I waved him off. “I can do it. I showered last night.”
“Yeah, you do not look good.”
The temptation to flick his nose vibrated through me, for now, I just stumbled into the shower. “I’m not closing the door.”
“Does that mean I get to watch?” The question was so light and so Freddie. “Fuck me, I didn’t just ask that.”
The laughter swelling up now was a little more freeing. “It’s okay, I can pretend I didn’t hear it. I’m very good at pretending.”
Very good. Too good. I turned the water on. The cold was almost too icy against my skin, but I stripped down before I slid inside. Holy shit. I grimaced. I could do ice showers when I was really sore, but this was so much colder than normal, and it wasn’t even that cold.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cursed the litany as the shivers hit, but the flushed feeling retreated and it took some of the headache with it. Wimping out, I turned the hot water on and let out a shudder when the frigid water warmed up.
More awake and a lot less nauseated, I didn’t linger under the warm water too long. Rinsing off felt good though and a quick wash also helped. I managed to only get the ends of my hair damp. The smell of coffee teased me as I got dressed.
“Did you make that for me?” I asked.
“No, I made it for the ghost next door,” Freddie called. “She gets real cranky without her coffee and I figured we didn’t need to be jumping at shadows.”
With a snort, I shut off the bathroom light and stepped back out into the room. He’d done a little more tidying up. At least he’d gotten rid of the empty popcorn bag. He held out the full disposable mug with the lid.
“Fancy.”
“For the ghosts? Absolutely.”
“Are we talking ghost boobs and ghost sex too?”
I had no idea where that question even came from. Freddie did contortions with his eyebrows and the smirk on his face was adorable. “Ghost sex—gotta imagine that’s a cock tease.”
“Why does it have to be a cock tease?” I asked, climbing back onto the bed and walking on my knees to where I’d been sitting. I was a lot clearer and the coffee was bitter, but sweet. There was no creamer in it, but he’d dumped enough sugar in to cut the edge. “It could be a cunt tease.”
“Ghost dick?” Freddie’s smirk grew. “Telling me a fantasy, Boo-Boo?”
“I wasn’t the one courting the ghost next door.” The bland response was almost perfect. He cracked up and sat down next to me. When he lifted his coffee cup to tap mine, I smiled. “Thank you, Freddie.”
“Anytime, Boo-Boo.” He grimaced after he took a swallow of the coffee. “Maybe I need to get a job as a barista next.”
I didn’t laugh at him, but I did study him. He had so many different jobs. At least, it sounded like he did. “What do you want to do?”
“Me?”
“No, your ghost girlfriend in apartment ‘boo’.”
His eyebrows danced their little dance as he fought against the laughter. “You’re the best, Boo-Boo.”
“No,” I said slowly, my own smile fading. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
“You are not them,” he said suddenly. “Am I those people who used me?”
His gaze locked on mine and I couldn’t breathe for the pressure in my chest. “No.”
“Then you’re not your family or your uncle or anyone else who put their damn hands on you.” The absolute sincerity in his words and tone were impossible to argue.
“It doesn’t always feel that way.”
He sighed. “Yeah. That part sucks.”
“I keep wanting to ask you to forget what I said.”
It was his turn to nod slowly. “I want to wish I hadn’t told you, too.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Ditto.”
But what did that leave us? When he held out his hand, I took it. When he turned the show back on and after I finished my coffee, I tucked my head against his shoulder. When my eyes got heavy, I let them close.