Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

face.
    “Slow
down, bucko, you’re not that steady and you stink and while I’m putting you to
bed I have no desire to touch you more than I absolutely have to.”
    He
groaned and virtually slithered back onto the sofa. “Room spinning.”
    She
finished taking his boot and sock off then stood and took his hands and hauled
him upright, inserting herself under his arm. “Where’s your bathroom?”
    “No.”
    Yes. She
got him that far and he refused further help, closing her out. She heard
nothing and then the choking, gagging sound of him upchucking followed by the
flush of the toilet, then the shower water running.
    “I’m
staying right here and if you don’t answer when I call you, I’m coming in. You
could drown. Do you hear me?”
    Nothing.
    “Reid.”
    A
masculine rumble. He was still alive at least.
    She thumped
on the door for emphasis. “Five minutes.”
    She
waited two and called. “Reid,” and got no answer. But the shower had stopped. “Reid.
Answer me or I’m coming in.” Jesus, was she going to have to see him naked? She
opened the door. Whoa , look at the size of that tub. You could have a
party in there.
    There
was a second entrance, this was an en suite. She could see Reid in the bedroom
beyond, flaked out face down on the bed wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t
bothered to dry himself so the clothing stuck to him in places, including that
nice ass and his very broad back.
    She
could leave him now, he was safe and clean and if she left his phone in reach
he could call for help.
    She
bent down to place his phone on the floor on the side of the bed where his alarm
clock sat and nearly left the planet when he spoke.
    “Thank
you.”
    His
voice was clogged up. “You’re welcome.” He was also shivering. “You need to get
under the covers.” He saw the wisdom of that and shifted and she managed to get
him under the quilt. “Your phone is here.” She pointed to the floor. A bedside
table would’ve been an asset. “You can call someone to check in on you.”
    “I let
them all down.”
    He
still shivered. She put her knee on the bed, reached over and felt his forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
    He
grunted a response and then sat abruptly, shoved her back and vomited on the
floor.
    He
flopped back on the bed with a choked groan, his arm draped over his eyes. “You’re
still here.”
    He’d
only missed her boots because she jumped away. It smelled vile. “Don’t worry,
I’ll fix it.”
    “No,
fuck, just go.”
    “Yeah,
make me,” she shot back, on her way to look for cleanup gear.
    By the
time she found what she needed and returned, bringing a glass and a bottle of
water he was asleep, snoring lightly. He was deathly pale and he had to be
dehydrated and that could make you sick all by itself. What was she supposed to
do with him? If she got sick she had Cara, and worst case she’d call home.
    She
cleaned up, coming and going from the room, and he didn’t wake. Did he have a
girlfriend, parents? Should she worry that much, or was this just a hideous forty-eight
hour thing?
    She sat
on the bedroom floor and fiddled with his phone trying to get past the lock
screen. He certainly didn’t use password as his code. She couldn’t get either
of his computers to wake, but was amused to notice that all of his computer
cables were meticulously tidy and clipped with Darth Vader and Storm Trooper
Lego figures.
    She went
back to the bedroom and stood at the foot of his bed and watched him sleep. Creepy,
even under these circumstances. He was curled on his side, with his knees up as
if his stomach hurt, and the covers pulled up around his neck as if he was
still cold. She should’ve thought to check his hand for gravel, bathe it in antiseptic.
She should’ve called Melinda and asked for advice on what to do with him.
    It was
nearly four in the morning and she was tired beyond sense and there was no one
she could reasonably call. She went back to the living room and took her