The Mistress
Page 44
“Here. Drink.”
He heard Laila’s accented voice right next to him, sensed her presence.
“Don’t. Let me,” she said as he opened his eyes and reached for the small glass of orange juice she held in her hand. “Your hands are shaking. I’ll hold it.”
She brought the glass to his lips.
He drank rapidly and soon the orange juice was gone.
“Where’s your kit?” Laila laid her hand on his forehead.
“Backpack. In the front room.”
“I’ll get it. Don’t stand up.”
Wesley knew he probably couldn’t stand up even if he tried. He cursed himself over his own stupidity. Driving for two days, panicking all the while, he’d barely eaten anything. No wonder he was crashing like this. Good thing Laila had recognized his symptoms before he’d simply fainted and gone into DKA. He would have woken up in the hospital and been useless to anyone, Nora especially, for days.
He heard Laila’s footsteps on the tile bathroom floor and he managed to pry his eyes open.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m such an idiot. I know better than to skip meals.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
“Didn’t I say that to you like five minutes ago? ‘Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault’?”
“It’s a good line.” He watched as Laila dug through his backpack and pulled out a small black leather bag. “This it?”
He nodded.
She unzipped the bag and took out his insulin meter.
“I think I can do this myself,” Wes said as she took his hand in hers and swabbed his finger with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.
“Sit. Breathe. I can do this. I do it all the time.”
“On dogs.”
“It’s all the same to me.” She grinned at him and he was suddenly struck by her beauty. How had he not noticed before that this girl who’d dropped out of nowhere into this nightmare was easily the prettiest thing he’d seen since...well, since Nora. Not that they looked anything alike. Laila had blond hair like her uncle and sky-blue eyes, high cheekbones and a dizzying smile. Even the nasty gash on her cheek couldn’t mar her beauty.
“You’re staring at me.” She pricked his finger with the lancet. “Does my face look that bad?”
“What? No. I was just noticing the resemblance between you and your uncle.”
“We both look like my grandmother.”
“She must have been beautiful. I mean, since you are. He’s not. I mean, he might be but he’s not my type.”
Laila grinned again as she slid the testing strip into Wes’s blood sugar meter.
“Most women would tell you he’s beautiful. My aunt especially.”
“It’s so weird that you call Nora your ‘aunt.’ I can’t get used to it.”
Laila shrugged. “I don’t remember a time that she wasn’t in his life. There are pictures of her holding me when I was only four or five years old.”
“Did she visit you all a lot?”
“Once a year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. How did you meet her?”
Wesley stiffened. This conversation would be a lot easier if Laila didn’t consider Nora part of the family. What was he going to say to her? Oh, your aunt and I have been sleeping together for the past week. Yes, your uncle knows. Long story.
“I worked for her,” he said, deciding not to rock her world any more than it had been tonight. “She taught a class at my school, a writing class. We’d talk all the time after class. Theology, philosophy...sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. We talked about everything. At the end of the semester, she asked me if I wanted to move in. She wanted an assistant.”
“You lived with her?”
“It sounds bad, I guess.” And it was bad. Oh, man, the constant shit he got from his friends when he moved out of the dorms and in with “smoking-hot Professor Nora” as they called her...he loved it. He might have pretended to be mad when they expressed their envy over all the things he and Nora were no doubt doing under that roof of hers...yeah, he loved it. The guys were beyond jealous. Older woman, erotica writer—the Mrs. Robinson fantasies they had...he let them have them. Wes Railey does not talk about his sex life, was his answer to their interrogation. They’d have much more fun with their imaginations than they would with the truth.
“Sounds fun. I’d love to live with her.”
“It was fun. She was a great roommate.”
“Was? You moved out?”
“Yeah, last year. Things got...complicated.”
He didn’t know how else to explain it without going into all the awful details, but Laila didn’t seem the least confused.
“I understand. When she went back to my uncle, he probably didn’t want her having a roommate who looked like you.”
Wes’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I mean, a man,” she said quickly. “He wouldn’t want her living with another man.”
“You knew they broke up?”
Laila blushed again, a guilty look in her bright blue eyes.
“Your blood sugar’s still low.”
“I have a glucose tablet in the bag. And you’re blushing,” Wes said, smiling at her.
She handed him one of his tablets.
“I hate being this pale.”
“You’re not pale right now. You’re bright red.”
He heard Laila’s accented voice right next to him, sensed her presence.
“Don’t. Let me,” she said as he opened his eyes and reached for the small glass of orange juice she held in her hand. “Your hands are shaking. I’ll hold it.”
She brought the glass to his lips.
He drank rapidly and soon the orange juice was gone.
“Where’s your kit?” Laila laid her hand on his forehead.
“Backpack. In the front room.”
“I’ll get it. Don’t stand up.”
Wesley knew he probably couldn’t stand up even if he tried. He cursed himself over his own stupidity. Driving for two days, panicking all the while, he’d barely eaten anything. No wonder he was crashing like this. Good thing Laila had recognized his symptoms before he’d simply fainted and gone into DKA. He would have woken up in the hospital and been useless to anyone, Nora especially, for days.
He heard Laila’s footsteps on the tile bathroom floor and he managed to pry his eyes open.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m such an idiot. I know better than to skip meals.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
“Didn’t I say that to you like five minutes ago? ‘Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault’?”
“It’s a good line.” He watched as Laila dug through his backpack and pulled out a small black leather bag. “This it?”
He nodded.
She unzipped the bag and took out his insulin meter.
“I think I can do this myself,” Wes said as she took his hand in hers and swabbed his finger with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.
“Sit. Breathe. I can do this. I do it all the time.”
“On dogs.”
“It’s all the same to me.” She grinned at him and he was suddenly struck by her beauty. How had he not noticed before that this girl who’d dropped out of nowhere into this nightmare was easily the prettiest thing he’d seen since...well, since Nora. Not that they looked anything alike. Laila had blond hair like her uncle and sky-blue eyes, high cheekbones and a dizzying smile. Even the nasty gash on her cheek couldn’t mar her beauty.
“You’re staring at me.” She pricked his finger with the lancet. “Does my face look that bad?”
“What? No. I was just noticing the resemblance between you and your uncle.”
“We both look like my grandmother.”
“She must have been beautiful. I mean, since you are. He’s not. I mean, he might be but he’s not my type.”
Laila grinned again as she slid the testing strip into Wes’s blood sugar meter.
“Most women would tell you he’s beautiful. My aunt especially.”
“It’s so weird that you call Nora your ‘aunt.’ I can’t get used to it.”
Laila shrugged. “I don’t remember a time that she wasn’t in his life. There are pictures of her holding me when I was only four or five years old.”
“Did she visit you all a lot?”
“Once a year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. How did you meet her?”
Wesley stiffened. This conversation would be a lot easier if Laila didn’t consider Nora part of the family. What was he going to say to her? Oh, your aunt and I have been sleeping together for the past week. Yes, your uncle knows. Long story.
“I worked for her,” he said, deciding not to rock her world any more than it had been tonight. “She taught a class at my school, a writing class. We’d talk all the time after class. Theology, philosophy...sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. We talked about everything. At the end of the semester, she asked me if I wanted to move in. She wanted an assistant.”
“You lived with her?”
“It sounds bad, I guess.” And it was bad. Oh, man, the constant shit he got from his friends when he moved out of the dorms and in with “smoking-hot Professor Nora” as they called her...he loved it. He might have pretended to be mad when they expressed their envy over all the things he and Nora were no doubt doing under that roof of hers...yeah, he loved it. The guys were beyond jealous. Older woman, erotica writer—the Mrs. Robinson fantasies they had...he let them have them. Wes Railey does not talk about his sex life, was his answer to their interrogation. They’d have much more fun with their imaginations than they would with the truth.
“Sounds fun. I’d love to live with her.”
“It was fun. She was a great roommate.”
“Was? You moved out?”
“Yeah, last year. Things got...complicated.”
He didn’t know how else to explain it without going into all the awful details, but Laila didn’t seem the least confused.
“I understand. When she went back to my uncle, he probably didn’t want her having a roommate who looked like you.”
Wes’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I mean, a man,” she said quickly. “He wouldn’t want her living with another man.”
“You knew they broke up?”
Laila blushed again, a guilty look in her bright blue eyes.
“Your blood sugar’s still low.”
“I have a glucose tablet in the bag. And you’re blushing,” Wes said, smiling at her.
She handed him one of his tablets.
“I hate being this pale.”
“You’re not pale right now. You’re bright red.”
