“You keep doing that,” Jeremy mumbled.
“What?”
Jeremy raised his hand and patted Reg’s arm, which was right by his face because Reg was, once again, brushing his fingers through Jeremy’s hair.
“Touching my hair.”
“Oh. Sorry, I—”
Reg started jerking his hand back, but Jeremy tightened the grip on his forearm. “’S okay. Feels good.”
Gently, Reg massaged Jeremy’s scalp. “It’s soft without all that product you normally put in it.”
“I need the product to look like a rock star.”
“You are a rock star.” Reg cupped Jeremy’s neck and massaged the base of his skull with his thumb. “Your hair has nothing to do with that.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy sighed, and his eyelids drooped. “That’s true.”
“Is your stomach empty, or do you have to hurl more?”
“I’m done.”
“All right.” Reg crouched down, wrapped his arms around Jeremy’s chest, and slowly pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get your mouth rinsed out and tuck you back in bed.”
“You don’t have to touch me.” Jeremy tried to pull away, but the effort was halfhearted. “I’m gross.”
“You’re fine. I was a bartender, remember? I’m used to puke.” Reg walked backward out of the room, taking Jeremy with him. “Can you hold yourself up?” He leaned Jeremy against the counter.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to find mouthwash.”
“Thank you.” Jeremy smiled. His mouth was closed and his eyes were glassy, but it was still a smile.
“You’re welcome, superstar.” Reg ruffled his hair—he really was having trouble keeping his hands off it—and then dug through the basket on the counter for mouthwash and poured it into a sparkling crystal glass. “Bottoms up.” He handed the glass to Jeremy. “That was a joke, by the way, don’t swallow.” He paused and grinned wickedly. “Wow. Never thought I’d say that sentence.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Usually, I’d want the opposite.”
Jeremy snorted and spit out the mouthwash. “You’re mean.” He wiped his hand across his chin. “Cut it out.”
“All right. All right.” Reg raised his arms in defeat. “Want to brush too, or will that gag you?”
Swirling the last of the liquid in his mouth, Jeremy nodded, so Reg picked up his toothbrush and squeezed paste onto it.
“Here you go.”
Jeremy brushed his teeth, only gagging a little, and then flattened his palms on the counter and sighed. “I’m getting light-headed.”
With his arm curled around Jeremy’s waist, Reg led them back to the bed. “What happened to sleeping naked?” he asked.
“I was cold.” He crawled under the blanket. “You should be grateful. At least you didn’t have to look at my hairy ass.”
Arching his eyebrows, Reg asked, “It’s hairy?”
“Well, not like Sasquatch, but… it’s an ass. There’s hair on it.”
“Your chest isn’t very hairy.”
“Yes, it is!” Jeremy glanced down, but his shirt covered his chest. “Just because I’m not all—” He pointed and grunted. “—Tarzan like you doesn’t mean I don’t have hair on my chest.”
“How do you know Tarzan has a hairy chest?” Reg smirked. “Were you one of the kids who checked out Tarzan in the cartoon?” He swallowed down his laugh. “Because I would have sworn you were more of a Jane guy.”
“I hate you.”
“Aw, no you don’t.” Reg sat on the edge of the bed. “You love me.”
“Hate,” Jeremy grumbled.
“I’m the best pretend boyfriend ever.”
Jeremy grunted.
“I have drinks and drugs,” Reg pointed out as he held up the glass of orange juice and the Tylenol. “That is totally better than flowers and candy.”
Rolling his eyes, Jeremy reached for the pills. “This doesn’t count as drugs.” He tossed them into his mouth and then grabbed the juice. “Or drinks.” He gulped it down and thrust the cup back at Jeremy.
“Thanks, wonderful, handsome, perfect pretend boyfriend,” Reg said in high-pitched voice. “It was really nice of you to get those for me. You’re the best!”
“Is that supposed to be an impression of me?” Jeremy asked incredulously. “Because I so don’t sound like a dying, constipated, one-nutted squirrel.”
“Uh.” Reg’s jaw dropped, and he tilted his head to the side. “You got a lot of experience with injured-squirrel sounds?”
Jeremy narrowed his eyes and glared.
“And how do you get them to roll over so you can examine their balls?”
“When I’m feeling better, I’m going to hurt you.” He dragged his gaze over Reg’s chest. “Well, when I’m feeling better and you’re asleep, I’m going to hurt you.”
Reg chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. But I’m awake right now, so it’ll have to wait. In the meantime do you need an—”
The sound of Jeremy’s phone interrupted them and reminded Reg of the call that had come in earlier. “Crap,” he said. “Your manager called before, and I forgot to tell you.” He started digging through the blankets. “I brought the phone in here, and then”—he tried to follow the sound and poked his head under the sheets—“you were sick, and I got distracted.” Finding the phone, he grasped it just as it stopped ringing. “Sorry.”