“I hate to bother you and you look . . . um, busy.” Her gaze dipped over my bare chest, and I raised my brows. “But I need your help. Well, Avery needs your help.”
A sharp set of tingles spread along the back of my neck as I stepped forward. “What do you mean, Avery needs my help?”
“She’s really sick. I think she has the flu,” she explained in a rush. “She hadn’t been returning my calls so I checked in on her and found her passed out in her kitchen and—”
“What?” I brushed past her, heading for Avery’s door. “Did you call an ambulance?”
“No.” Brittany hurried behind me. “It’s just the flu and I need to get her some meds, but I can’t get her into her bed. She’s too heavy. So I was hoping that you could carry her back and maybe . . .”
I really wasn’t listening anymore. My whole focus was on Avery as I entered her apartment. The smell of sickness was strong—too strong—and I could see her denim-clad legs and bare feet.
Darting into the kitchen, I sucked in the sharp breath. Avery was curled on her side, compressed into a fetal position with one cheek plastered to the floor. Dark, sweat-soaked hair clung to the side of her face. Every few seconds, her body would shake and a tiny, breathy moan would come from her. Concern rose swiftly.
Brittany sighed. “I had her sitting up before I left.”
“Are you sure we don’t need an ambulance?” I asked, kneeling down. Carefully, I scooped the strands of damp hair off her face. Her lashes twitched, but her eyes did not open.
“I called my mom—she’s a nurse. She told me Avery should be fine as long as her fever goes down and she gets fluids in her, but I need to get her some meds.”
“I’ll stay with her while you go.”
Brittany said something else, but I didn’t hear it. I was only vaguely aware of Brittany picking up her purse from the back of the couch as I slipped an arm under Avery.
“No,” she moaned, twisting toward the floor feebly. “Cool . . . feels good . . .”
“I know, but you can’t sleep on the floor.” I lifted her up, wincing when her hot cheek landed against my chest. God, she was burning up. I turned, with her in my arms, realizing that Brittany had already left.
Avery mumbled something as she turned her face, but the words were too muffled and too slurred for me to understand.
“It’s okay,” I told her, because I really had no idea what to say. “You’re going to feel better soon.”
She didn’t respond as I carried her back to her bed. When I laid her down, I sat back and got a good look at the shirt she wore. Areas of the damp material clung to her skin. There were patches that were suspicious and made me think of the stench of sickness.
“Shit,” I said.
I looked around the room, finding a pair of pajama bottoms and a sleep shirt folded on her dresser. Taking one look at her, I made up my mind.
Many times over since I’d met Avery, I had imagined undressing her. The very fantasy of doing so had kept me up many nights. I hated to admit that it still did, even though I knew that it would never happen, at least in the way I wanted.
Stripping her of her ruined clothing happened faster than a heart attack and was just as about as fun as one. Especially considering she was mostly unconscious and was nothing more than dead weight.
I didn’t peek. Okay. I might’ve peeked at the pink lacy bra, but it was a brief and totally innocent accident.