"Sure," I answered and went to sit on the end of the bed around the same time he started patting the empty spot next to him. The mattress was king-sized, so I nodded and climbed over to sit to where I was only a couple feet away from him.

In the middle of a sip, he stopped and turned to look at me sharply. "I'm going to get you sick, Kat."

"Don't worry about it, I get my flu shot every year, so if I do catch anything, it won't be too bad. My immune system blows, so I drink that gross shit," I pointed at his cup, "all the time."

He tipped the cup back to drink the last bit and shivered again, setting the cup down on the nightstand. "Gross," he muttered, licking his lips. Tristan closed his eyes and wiggled his way down the bed to lay flat against the mattress. "I don't have a TV in here so you're going to have to tell me all of your secrets to entertain me."

"In that case—," I started to say but laughed. "I don't have any secrets."

"I don't either besides Robby. Just tell me about your family... or anything, I don't care. Just talking makes me feel terrible," he groaned.

So, I told him. I told him about my dad, Frank Berger, and how he was the hardest-working electrician in Gainesville, Florida. I told him about my mom, and how she worked odd-end jobs until she died from a brain aneurysm right before her thirtieth birthday. Tristan learned about my bad haircuts, which made him laugh even though his eyes were closed. He found out about the time I went to a Marlins game with Frank and was dumb enough to wear a skirt that I ended up tucking into my underwear after a restroom break, so I practically mooned hundreds of people with my white cotton panties. He had tears in his eyes after he asked me how old I was when it happened, and I answered with a whopping sixteen. How he managed to stay awake and pay attention to me while I rambled, I don't know but he did, because he constantly laughed quietly despite the fact that his eyes were closed.

I wiggled my way off the bed and headed over to his side to take his temperature one last time. Once the reading was over, the digital numbers showed that his fever was down to 101.8. "Can you take another cold shower?" I asked him, and he nodded, rolling out of bed sluggishly before heading toward the bathroom.

Exhaustion hit me while I paced around his room, waiting for him to finish his shower. He was fast; in and out — dressed, undressed, and dressed again — in less than five minutes. He looked tired and half-asleep despite the freezing shower. Tristan dragged his feet across the floor, making moaning and grunting noises as he settled into bed. The noises were so distracting that later on I realized I didn't get a chance to ogle his abs, or the little trail of dark hair from his belly button down the front of his boxers.

"Thank you for coming, Kat," he whispered, his silhouette illuminated by the side lamp.

"Don't mention it," I said softly. My watch showed that it was passed two in the morning and more than an hour after he took the Theraflu. I let out a big yawn and rubbed at my face. "Will you be okay alone the rest of the night?"

He opened a single eye but didn't focus it on me. Instead, he settled that piercing gaze at the ceiling. "I think so," he said, but I could hear the hesitation in his voice. "Can you come back tomorrow and make sure I'm not dead?"

"Of course," I said. I'd stay if he'd asked me to but he didn't.

Tristan rolled onto his side and started digging through his nightstand drawer, moving all kinds of things over before pulling out a shiny new key and holding it out for me. "Can you lock the door for me, and this way you can let yourself back in? I think my neighbor might try to sneak in and molest me if the door is unlocked all night."