Twist (Dive Bar 2)

Wearily, I blinked open my eyes. The damp cloth covering my forehead obscured my vision. A table lamp was on, showing Joe standing by my bedside.

"Okay, I'll get some more into her." He looked my way, face lined with concern. "She's awake now."

Another pause as the person on the other end of the line talked.

"Keep the liquids up. Got it. Thanks, Mom. I'll call you if she gets any worse."

"Mom?" I queried in a wavery voice.

"Dr. Google and Mom have got you covered. She's a nurse." He put down the mobile and picked up the bottle of aspirin, shaking two tablets out into his hand. "Can you sit up a little?"

I nodded, dislodging the cloth and rising up on one elbow, shaking all the while. "Yeah."

"We need to bring your temperature down." He sat beside me on the bed, lifting the glass of water. "Open your mouth."

In went the pills, followed by the water. Man, nothing had ever tasted so good. Nothing. I downed the whole glassful in a nanosecond.

He refilled the glass from a bottle of water. "Just sip it this time. We don't want you getting queasy."

I did as told. "Feel hot. Can we get this blanket off?"

"Sure."

Together, though mostly it was Joe, we pushed the blanket off onto the other side of the bed. My clothes literally stuck to me. Gross didn't cover it. And I was still burning up, hot as Hades. It felt like a small sun had taken up residence inside of me. While my feet pushed at my socks, I wrestled with removing the baggy thermal from my upper body. To get comfortable was the only thing that mattered. This man had already stated that he didn't see me that way, plus he and I had no future, so who cared what he thought of me in my underwear. Also, fuck modesty when I was feeling this sick.

"Want that off too?" Joe carefully freed me from the thermal top while I huffed and puffed. The white tank top underneath was plastered to me with sweat. Never mind. At least I could start to feel cool air on my skin.

"Socks, please," I whispered.

He got busy liberating my feet from the fluffy menaces. But it was still too much, and only achieving a modicum of comfort mattered. I stuck my thumbs into the top of my leggings and started wriggling about, trying to get them down. Someone had sucked the strength straight out of me. My arms just kind of flopped around. Noodle woman, that was me.

"Those too?" The big guy peeled my leggings off and yes. Oh, fuck yes.

"That's better." With a sigh of relief, I flopped back down. Tank top and knickers were plenty of clothing. Every part of me ached. My toes, my teeth, my freaking hair follicles. Everything.

The TV was off, along with every light in the room apart from the table lamp. It made the world look so weird, shadowy. Joe's cheekbones in particular appeared to have been carved from stone, his dark eyes glowing in the low light. It all felt like a fever dream. Reality was far, far away and sleep had started sneaking up on me once more.

"The movie finished?" I asked.

He smiled. "A while ago. You fell asleep."

"Oh."

A nod toward the couch. "Don't freak out. But I camped out over there. Just in case."

"Okay." My eyelids drifted shut. I lacked the energy to keep them open. Or to care. "Thanks."

The mattress shifted. Soft footsteps and then distantly I heard running water. He returned and placed a new damp cloth on my forehead.

"That's nice." I mumbled.

"I'm here if you need me," he said.

And that was nice too.

CHAPTER FIVE

Message sent five months ago:

Hey Eric,

So it's my turn to write and I really don't know what to say. Look, in all honesty, my life is incredibly boring. Since I'm based at home and I'm my own boss, I can work pretty much whenever it suits. Depends on how many jobs I've got going on. I can easily go up to a week only talking to the people who deliver my takeout. I've got my friends and family too, of course. But you know how busy modern life is etc. Oh, and there's Marty. He's always good company. Besides work, it's usually just me, online property sites (a girl needs her dreams), and TV together forever. Don't be mad, you had to have seen this coming. TV and the internet are just too good. There was no way you could ever compete.

Regretfully,

Alex

P.S. Hope your restaurant and life in general are doing well.

Message received:

Alex,

Damn. We haven't even actually met yet and you've chosen TV over me. That's harsh. Things are going okay here. Starting to warm up a little which is great. The Dive Bar's been busy. Can't imagine going days not having anyone around. Your bubble must be peaceful. Seems all I do is talk to people all day long. Not sure I need TV since the business isn't short on drama. One of the bartenders thinks he's Romeo. Unfortunately he has the attention span of a gnat. Makes keeping good wait staff around hard. Also our cook, Nell, is going through a divorce. She and her ex are both long-time friends of mine so it sucks to see them hurting. On particularly bad days you can hear Nell using her cleaver throughout the whole restaurant. I don't even want to think about what she's imagining chopping.

Eric

Insistent knocking on the door. Again.

"For fuck's sake."

My sentiments exactly. Only, strangely enough, I hadn't spoken. Instead, a familiar, if somewhat unexpected, masculine voice had provided the profanity. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked out the other side of the mattress. Large-male alert. Oh God, what if I'd had some strange reaction to the cold and flu tablets and sexually assaulted the poor innocent man last night? It had been a while since I'd seen any action.

"Hey," said Joe, stretched out on top of the bed. He'd shucked his boots, but otherwise, all clothing remained intact.

Thank God.

"Hi" is what I attempted to say. What came out was a cross between a whisper and a wheeze. God, my throat was on fire. Raw agony. I could have cried in pain and frustration, only it would have made my headache worse. Besides appearing pitiful, of course.

The knocking continued.

"How are you feeling,?" he asked around a yawn.

"Crappy," I whisper-wheezed, beyond caring. Fucking plague.

"Shit," he mumbled. "You lost your voice?"

I nodded.

"Damn. Least you're not burning up anymore." Slowly, he sat up, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders. Then he pushed up off the bed and went to answer the door.

The actual Eric Collins barging in made for the second surprise of the morning. Unlike his brother, he wore black slacks and a pale blue button-down, topped off with a black leather jacket. His long dark

hair was tied back in a man-bun, his face freshly shaven. Besides him, Joe appeared distinctly rumpled. Resemblance-wise, you could see the shared gene pool in their high foreheads and generous lips. The slight thickness of their noses. Otherwise you'd hardly credit them with being brothers. As different as day and night.

"Morning," said Eric, dumping his load of brown paper bags on top of the chest of drawers. "Told Nell you didn't make it home last night and she made me bring over more food and stuff. Coffee's in that one."

"Thanks." Joe dove into the designated bag, pulling out two extra-large coffee cups.

"Dad phoned, wanted to know when you'd be on the job," he said. "Better check your cell and give him a call."

"Will do."

Eric turned, giving me a flirty little grin. It didn't last long, however. "Damn. You're really sick, aren't you?"

Joe's brows drew in. "I said she was."

"Yeah, just figured it was an excuse she'd made up to stay in town and make you run around jumping through hoops, doing stuff for her. Grovel. You know, make you pay penance?" He shrugged. "Bet Boyd fifty bucks too."

Without a word, Joe set down one of the cups and smacked his brother upside the head.

"Christ, man!" Eric patted his hair back into place. "Take it easy."

"Apologize to Alex before I break your fucking neck."

"Sorry, Alex," said Eric, becoming less attractive to me by the minute.

"Idiot." Dark eyes distinctly pissy, Joe turned my way. "You want coffee?"

To think I'd actually imagined Eric might be the man of my dreams. The real Eric had maturity issues, that much was certain. I shook my head and fought my way out from underneath the mountain of blankets he must have piled on me while I slept. Distantly, I could remember waking up at some stage shivering, ice cold, and demanding blankets. Otherwise, I still just had on the thin tank top and my favorite underwear. Bright yellow boy-legs with Little Miss Fucking Sunshine on the front. I only owned about five pairs of them. She was kind of my spirit animal. And to think, Joe had seen me in this glorious getup, sticky with sweat and sick as could be, and he'd still stayed and played nurse. Impressive.

I hadn't lasted through all of the movie last night, what with being on death's doorstep. Joe and I hadn't talked much. But what we did do was laugh at the same lines, exclaim over the same fight scene, and ooh at exactly the same time during the car chase. So our tastes in films were eerily similar, as if that meant anything. I just hadn't expected to feel quite so comfortable having him around. Early on, all I had noticed was how different he was from the guy I thought I knew. It was disconcerting to start grafting all the things we actually had in common onto this new hunk of manhood.