Making His List - Devon Rhodes.pdf

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Devon Rhodes
Making His List [2]
Chapter One
“I THREW up.”
The quavering voice brought Corbin jackknifing up out
of a sound sleep, struggling to get his bearings.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” This in a disgruntled, groaning
whisper from Ken on the other side of the bed.
Well, that helped settle who the participants were. And
apparently something was going to have to be done about
Ken—soon—but first things first. He pulled Bailey into a
sour-smelling and unfortunately damp hug, resting his
cheek against her extremely hot temple. Oh man .
“Where’s your mom?”
“Don’t know. I threw up on my bed.” The tears were
starting, and God knew that wouldn’t help matters any.
“Do you want to sleep with the throw up or should I
change your sheets?”
A watery giggle. “Change them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Uncle Corrrry….”
“Okay, okay.” He stood, glad that he’d had the foresight
to put on his pajama pants after he’d fielded the booty call-
turned-sleepover Ken probably now wished he hadn’t
Devon Rhodes
Making His List [3]
insisted on. Picking Bailey up—man she was scorching all
over—he walked her into the hall bathroom, trying to
remember what his mom had done for them when they were
sick.
He flipped on the light, and then turned it back off again
when Bailey winced and cried out. Turning the hall light on
instead, he saw that there would definitely need to be a
wardrobe change. He grimaced at the damp spot on his
shirt. For both of us . He carefully pulled the nightie over her
head backwards, taking care not to get any throw-up from
the nightie into her hair or anything and tossed it in the sink
for lack of a better plan.
“Do you think you could take a bath?”
“Don’t know. I’m cold.”
She was anything but cold, but she was shivering, so he
wrapped a towel around her. “You sit here on the rug.” He
sat her on the floor in front of the toilet. “I’m going to change
your bed and get another nightie, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Becky was nowhere to be seen. Must’ve gotten a phone
call of her own , he thought, and then cringed. He so did not
want to think of his little sister in drunk dial terms. He
hustled to strip the bed and remade it with the last sheet.
Looking at it dubiously, he added a few beach towels for
layers. At least if she continued to throw up, she wouldn’t
get to the sheet until—he counted—the fourth time.
Arms bundled full of the abused bedding, a clean
nightie dangling from his one clean finger, he almost ran into
Ken coming down the hall. Fully dressed and apparently
fleeing the scene.
Devon Rhodes
Making His List [4]
Cory felt a swell of anger, even as he recognized it was
unrealistic—after all, why would Ken stick around? Sex was
obviously out for the rest of the night, and that was the sum
total of their relationship to date. He ruthlessly suppressed
the vulnerable twinge at being abandoned and kept walking.
Good riddance. Guess now that Bailey was living here, he
was going to have to add “Likes Kids” to The List .
Ken reared back to avoid the collision. “Whoa.”
Cory didn’t even stop, just veered around him. “See ya.”
“Hey! What’s your problem?” Ken actually sounded like
he believed he was the injured party. Amazing.
“Just a puking kid in my bathroom, and an asshole in
my hallway.”
He caught snippets of the defensive response but tuned
it out, dumping his armload in the laundry room sink. A
thought occurred to him, and he went back out to the
hallway.
“Hey, can you go to the all-night drugstore for me?”
Ken’s jaw dropped. “Are you joking? You just called me
an asshole.”
Cory ignored the hint of hurt in the other man’s eyes,
defiantly covering his guilt with bravado and purpose. “What
can I say? You’re acting like one. I need ginger ale and some
kinda sports drink. And crackers, the soup kind. And, uh,
kids’ Ibuprofen, fever reducer—whatever kind they have for a
five-year old.”
Devon Rhodes
Making His List [5]
Ken was just staring at him and Cory stared back for
the count of three before throwing his hands up in disgust.
“Fine. Would you rather stay here with her while I go?”
That jolted his guest out of his trance. “What? No. I’ll
go.” He looked a bit surprised at his own response, and Cory
helpfully steered him toward the front door.
“Keep your cell phone on in case I think of anything else
I need. Oh, and popsicles. Hurry back.” He turned on his
heel and headed back to the ominously quiet bathroom.
Poor Bailey was curled up in a ball on the bathmat,
shivering under the towel. Wetting a washcloth, he gently
bathed her, trying to simultaneously clean her up and cool
her down. An unmistakable rumble preceded a violent
heaving, and he neatly turned and supported her, holding
her hair back while she emptied the contents of her stomach
into the toilet.
Once she quieted, tears streaking down her face, eyes
glassy with fever, he sponge-bathed her once again and
helped her into the sleep shirt. His phone rang in the other
room. He propped a quiescent Bailey against the tub and
hurried to grab it. Ken.
“I’m about at the checkout. Did you think of anything
else?” At this point, the concern in his voice, while a little
late in coming, was much appreciated.
“No, but thanks. Just come in when you get back, I’ll be
up in Bailey’s room.”
“Okay.” There was a pause as if Ken wanted to say
more, but then he said goodbye and hung up.

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