Free Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) by Elizabeth Ruston

said.
    “It does.”
    “Why are you here?” Sarah murmured.
    “I wanted to see you in your underwear.”
    Sarah couldn’t help chuckling, just a little.  “You’re sick.”  But then
she felt the next wave coming.
    “Oh, God . . . ”
    “I’ve got you,” Joe said as he lifted her toward the bowl.
    Sarah vomited until she could have sworn she got all the way down to
her mother’s milk.  When she finally—finally—felt empty, she flushed for the
third time, then rolled onto her side again and pulled her knees up to her
chest.
    “I think I’m done,” she managed to say.
    She felt Joe lifting her up.
    She didn’t care that it was him.  All she wanted was what he was doing,
carrying her to the bed, pulling the sheets back, laying her between them and
covering her up.  He pulled the covers all the way to her chin.
    “I’ll be back,” he said.  “Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
    Sarah nodded.  She kept her eyes closed.  She stayed curled in a ball.
    She heard Joe closing the drapes in her room until the light was
mercifully blocked out.  He didn’t turn on any of the lamps, but left the room
dark.  She heard the door click closed behind him.  Then she shivered miserably
in her bed.
    ***
    A cool hand on her forehead.  She reached up to touch it.  It felt dry,
a little hairy around the knuckles.
    She peeked open one eye.  “Still here?”
    “Here again,” Joe said.
    He laid his hand against her neck.  “You’re burning up.  Here.  Take
these.”
    He shook two ibuprofen tablets into the palm of his hand and offered
them to her along with a glass of water.  Sitting up seemed impossible.  Sarah
didn’t move.
    “You’ll feel better,” Joe told her.  “Come on, I’ll help you.”
    Her body felt pummeled by a thousand aches.  She really was sick, she
realized—as if the puking hadn’t been enough to convince her.
    “What about the depositions?” she asked.
    “Cancelled.”  Joe helped lever her into enough of a sitting position
that she could swallow without choking.  Then he helped her lie back down
again.
    “Don’t be nice to me, Burke.”
    “I won’t,” he said.
    “I mean it.  You’re pissing me off.”
    “I can see why.”
    He got up and went into the bathroom, and returned with a damp washcloth. 
He wiped away the sweat on her face and the back of her neck.
    Sarah felt the sting of tears.  And the pang of anger.
    “Don’t,” she said again, this time feeling one of the tears escape.
    “It’s just today,” Joe said.  “Then we can go back to being enemies.”
    “Promise?” she sniffled.
    “Promise.  Go back to sleep, Sarah.  I’ve got you.”

 
     
    Ten
    Sarah looked at the clock.  5:02.  AM or PM?  Which day was it?
    Her body ached.  Her mouth felt . . . disgusting.  There was no other
word for it.  Her throat was raw.
    She fumbled for the lamp switch beside the bed.  The light burned her
eyes, so she turned it off again.
    She was in her hotel room, she knew that much.  Dressed in the courtesy
white robe, which smelled like she hadn’t treated it very courteously.  She
cautiously pushed herself out of bed, then unbelted the robe and let it fall to
the floor.  She would deal with it later, she told herself, once she felt like she
might live again.
    She padded into the bathroom and reluctantly turned on the light.  She
looked like hell.  No, worse than hell:  hell’s monster, the one with dark red
frizzy hair and a freakishly white face to scare all the sinners.  She must
have sweated through every hair treatment she gave herself the day before—or
was it the day before that?  And Joe had been right about the dark circles
under her eyes:  Sarah looked like she’d been punched.
    She pulled her toothbrush out of its travel case and attacked her sour
mouth.  She gave it two separate applications, finally tasting more normal
after the second.  Then she reached into the shower and turned it on as hot as
it would go.  She