“Yeah…I need to talk to Garrett. He deserves an explanation and I also want to make sure he knows there’s no obligation to do this.”

“Okay,” she says uncertainly. “Call me and let me know how it goes. I’m clearly going to have to do some groveling.”

I get up from the couch and give her a hug. “He’ll be fine. He just needs time, I’m sure.”

“Hope you’re right,” she says as she heads to my front door. “Later, cuz.”

“Later,” I say, and then, with a sigh, turn around and head back to my bedroom.

I find Garrett in there, going through my drawers. Standing in the doorway, I watch for a moment as he rifles through them, finally pulling out a pair of my pajamas. Without even looking at me, he says, “Let’s get you into your pajamas so you can go to bed.”

“How about we talk first,” I tell him.

He turns and walks over to me, casually tossing the nightwear on my bed. Reaching down to the hem of my shirt, he starts to lift it over my head. “Let’s get you in bed first, then we’ll talk.”

My shirt lifts free of my head and before I can even move or argue with him, his hands are efficiently removing my bra. His gaze touches on my breasts, but there’s no heat or desire. Only a calm surety in his eyes as he takes the white cami top and pulls it over my head. I participate only to the extent that I thread my arms through, and then he’s pulling it down and smoothing the edges out.

“I can do the rest,” I tell him testily, because the way he’s trying to help is sort of freaking me out a little bit. I’m totally set on the fact that our conversation is going to end with him walking out my door and me never seeing him again.

Garrett steps away and walks over to my window, looking out with his hands tucked into his pockets. I make quick work of getting the rest of my clothes off and slipping the matching pajama bottoms on. I throw my clothes in the hamper and then crawl into bed.

The slight squeak of the box springs has Garrett turning his attention back to me. His green eyes stare at me impassively for a moment, then he pulls a small chair that sits in the corner of my room around to my side of the bed and sits in it so he can face me. I roll on my side and pull the covers up tight up to my chin, my eyes taking in how gorgeous and alive he looks, and I think I must look terrible in comparison.

Resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, Garrett says, “I get why you didn’t tell me. I mean…why bother telling the guy that historically wouldn’t be around anyway, right?”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, hoping he sees in my eyes how bad I feel about that. He gives me a slight nod, telling me that it’s all water under the bridge.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice laced with a fair warning not to argue.

“Really…I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “There’s no need for you to stay here with me, when I won’t be doing much other than sleeping and barfing. I’m sure you have things to do.”

“No…you don’t get it,” he growls. “I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere. And I’m not just talking about right this minute.”

I raise up in the bed, tucking an elbow on the mattress to support me. Is Garrett saying what I think he’s saying?

“Wait a minute…you still want to see me?” I ask, dumbfounded.

Garrett stares at me intently. “Olivia…I think we tear it up nicely between the sheets, and yeah…I think this started out as just a quick fling. But for some fucking reason, I can’t seem to stay away from you, and apparently it doesn’t matter if you’re riding my cock or throwing up in a toilet…I just want to be around you and get to know you better. So, yeah…I’d like to keep seeing you.”

“I don’t want this to be an obligation—”

“Just shut the fuck up, Olivia,” he says in exasperation as he stands up from the chair and walks to the edge of the bed. “I don’t do obligation. I live for what I want, and right now…I want you. So don’t ever let me hear you say that. I have enough people doubting my abilities, I don’t need it from you. Now move your ass over and let me lie down next to you.”

For one brief and glorious moment, I forget about my cancer and the nausea. I don’t think about chemotherapy or bone-marrow results. I look at this gorgeous man, who purportedly doesn’t do relationships, telling me that he wants one now.

With me.

Sick me.

I let the warmth of his words spread through me. I let them coat me from the inside to the outside in comfort and happiness that Garrett Samuelson is saying he wants me…despite the sickness and uncertainty of my future.

I slide over on the mattress while Garrett kicks off his shoes. He pulls the covers back and slides in next to me, opening his arms so I can move over closer to him. Snuggling in tight and laying my head on his shoulder, I say, “Sutton’s really sorry. And I don’t think she’s doubting your abilities anymore.”

“Yeah, well, she’s going to have to do a hell of a lot more groveling to make it up to me,” he grumbles, and I can’t help but giggle.

“You know they didn’t tell you because I asked them not to,” I point out.

“I know,” he says in resignation. “Still pissed at Sutton, though.”

“You two kids will figure it out,” I say as I pat him on the chest.