Free Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel by Julie Brannagh

chicken soup?”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “I am. Will you make some for me?”
    He really did look miserable. The next word out of his mouth made her bite her tongue instead of telling him one more time how busy she was, as she’d intended.
    “Please?” He reached out one hand to her but didn’t touch her. “You probably shouldn’t come near me at all right now. Maybe we could lay down some kind of Lysol barrier.” He regarded her for a moment.
    “Fine,” she said.
    She knew she was risking the worst cold this side of bubonic plague, but he was obviously so sick he needed help. If she ended up with whatever he had as a result, she deserved it for being such a sucker, but she reached out to push the door open a bit further. He backed up as she stepped over the threshold of his house.
    Amy glanced around the entryway, which was surprisingly neat. His car keys and wallet rested on the hall table next to another vase of wildflowers. She indicated the flowers with a nod.
    “One of your many admirers?”
    “My mom sent them.” Amy resisted the impulse to ask why his mom didn’t order flowers for him from her shop.
    “Does she live here? Maybe you should call her to come and take care of you.”
    “She’s in Seattle.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “She’s—ah, she’s elderly, and I don’t want her driving after dark.” He gazed down at her. “Hey. What’s your favorite flower?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You must have one. What is it?”
    “Sweet peas.”
    “That’s interesting, Fifi.” He probably didn’t even know what they were.
    Matt gave Amy a shadow of his typical smirk and led her into the kitchen. Now, this was more like it. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. It looked like he’d spent the past several days with enough strength to feed himself, but that was about it. Even now he swayed a bit as he put the flowers down on the center island.
    “Matt.” Amy quickly snaked an arm around his waist to steady him. “You need to sit down.” She wrinkled her nose at the evidence that he hadn’t changed his clothes for a while.
    “Just tired,” he informed her, but he didn’t resist. He looped his arm around her shoulders, walking them through an informal dining area to what must have been the family room. The coffee table was covered with more dirty dishes, used Kleenex, and multiple cold remedies. There were two bed pillows and a couple of blankets on the leather sectional by the gas fireplace. Matt must have been camping out for several days.
    “When was the last time you ate?” she asked.
    “Last night, I think. Good thing Amazon Fresh delivers.”
    “You. Sit down.”
    Amy gave him enough of a push to let him know she meant business and adjusted the pillows behind his back when he collapsed onto the couch. She draped a blanket over him. He needed a shower, but he needed food and some orange juice first, if she guessed correctly.
    “You’re going to feed me, right?”
    She propped her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I’ll feed you, and then I’m going to yell at you. Why didn’t you call anyone to come and help?”
    “I’ll be fine—” Matt was racked with a fit of coughing that scared the hell out of her. She shoved more tissues at him.
    “How long has that been going on?” she cried out.
    “It’s better than it was.” He lay back against the arm of the couch and threw one arm over his eyes. “Maybe I’ll cough up a lung.”
    “Okay. You’re having something to drink, something to eat, and then we’re going to the doctor. Let me see if you have a fever. That cough sounds awful. I can’t believe you . . .” She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. He tried to brush it away.
    “I’ll be fine,” he repeated.
    “Yeah, right. Don’t make me call your mother,” Amy threatened as she grabbed a plastic grocery bag off the table. She saw the ghost of a smile in response.
    “Aww, Fifi. You care. How sweet.”
    “I just don’t want you to die