The Write Stuff (Write Stuff 1)

"Sheesh, Nicole. You look like hell," Olivia greeted me when I opened the door for her the day after I returned home.

"Hello to you too," I sniffled, blowing my nose with a tissue.

"No, I'm serious. You look bad."

I rolled my watery eyes, shuffling to the nest of blankets I'd set up on my couch. "Does that mean you don't want to make out?"

She pretended to gag. "I'd rather drink bleach. When you said you were sick, I had no idea it was this bad."

"Duh. Why would I exaggerate that?" I blew my sore nose again, wishing I could cut it off. In the last twenty-four hours, it had been like a faucet. I was ready to scream. It only seemed fitting that I would pick up the worst summer cold I'd ever had. Nothing like adding insult to injury.

"I thought maybe you were wallowing."

I had spewed all the sordid details about Alec and me over a bottle of cheap wine the last night of my book tour. As my friend, Olivia listened with a sympathetic ear, but I also knew she probably thought I was in idiot for even using the L-word. Like Alec, she had a phobia of commitments, and had dumped guys in the past for even hinting about getting that serious.

"He hasn't mentioned anything about it, you know," she added when I chose not to comment.

"I didn't ask."

"I know. I'm just saying."

"Well, stop." I loved Olivia, but I wasn't in the mood to start a conversation that had the potential to turn nasty.

She sank down on the chair next to the couch, not wanting to get close to me. I was tempted to plant a big old smooch on her lips so I wouldn't be the only one miserable, but I could barely stop shivering as I pulled my blanket up to my chin. My fever had obviously returned from the night before.

"Well, this sucks. I wanted to go out and celebrate. Wicked Lovely is ranked in the top ten on all the sites. How are we not screaming this from the rooftops?"

"My throat is too sore for screaming." A ragged cough tore its way out of my mouth, emphasizing the point.

"Damn, Nicole, you sound awful. You need to go see a doctor."

"I'm fine. It's just a summer cold. I'm sure I got it from one of the germ incubators I flew in during the last three weeks. I'll be better in a couple days and we can celebrate then. My parents want to do something too." I rested my head against the arm of my couch. I didn't confess that several sleepless nights in a row had probably done little to help my health and well-being.

"Fine, sicky. Speaking of your family, your mom called me yesterday. She wanted a list of your friends. I think she's planning a party."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh lord. That seems a little pretentious, don't you think?"

"You, pretentious? Is that even possible? You're the most humble person I know. I think a celebration is a great idea. You've worked hard, and I think you deserve it."

I opened my mouth, but held off as a series of sneezes ripped through me. "Seriously, this cold is the asshole of all colds," I muttered when I finally stopped and had blown my nose loudly again.

Olivia stood up, trying not to look too disgusted. "On that note, I think I'm going to bolt."

I glared at her cold skittishness. What a baby. I really should have licked her.

"I'm going to run to Publix. What do you need?"

I forgave her abandonment and no longer felt I needed to pass my germs on to her with my tongue. "I want to marry you," I declared, blowing my nose again.

"I'm flattered. What do you need, sicky?"

"More tissues," I said, holding up the nearly empty box. "And OJ would be amazing." I hacked again.

"Okie-dokie. I'll get chicken soup too. When I get back, I may do the ol' ring-the-bell-and-run trick."

"Will you get me some 7UP too?" I added before she could close the front door.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving as she left.