"Have sex." he coughed, "and we should probably not, not with the sex."
"Not with the sex?" I repeated. "Eloquent."
"I'm sick. Bad fish." He coughed.
"You're a liar, and you're going to hell."
"Funny, I told Travis that exact same thing today."
"No sex?"
"Cute." He threw a pillow at my face. "No, that I was going to hell."
"Well, at least Grandma won't be there," I offered cheerfully.
"Point Jace." He closed his eyes and moaned.
"Are you really sick?"
"Do I look sick?"
He was still in all his clothes but lying across the bed; his eyes had dark circles underneath them, and he looked pale.
"Kind of."
"So I look like shit?"
"Of course not."
He gave a relieved sigh.
"Shit looks like Donkey."
He closed his eyes and mumbled a curse. "It's like the island of misfit toys."
"And you're the king. Yay, you!" I offered a playful punch to the arm.
"Jace!" A hard knock sounded at the door. "Jace, it's Grandma! I brought you tea!"
"Shit!"
"Hee-haw." I chuckled.
"Not the time for games, Beth. I'll pay you. I will do anything you want. I'll go find Frank. I'll let Frank bite me — just don't let her think I'm healthy. Please, I can't take one more thing."
He looked too pitiful. Too beautiful. And honestly? I wanted to be stuck in the room with him. I wanted him all to myself.
"Lie back."
"Wait, what are you doing?"
He struggled against me while I pulled his shirt over his head and pulled the covers over his body.
"Just a minute, Grandma!" I ran into the bathroom and got some hot water and a washrag. I threw it at Jace's face and whispered, "Fever of a hundred, your muscles ache, you've lost vision in your left eye, are sensitive to loud noises and light, and have a sore throat."
"So I'm dying?" he snapped.
"No. You have the flu. Stop being such a guy and cough."
"Oh, if I had a dollar for every time a doctor told me that."
I smirked and gave him a pointed stare before marching to the door and throwing it open.
"Oh Grandma, I'm so glad you cared enough to come, but I have everything totally under control."
"Do you?" Her eyebrow shot up as she peered around me. "Have you used the honey?"
"Er, no."
"Or the onions and mustard?"
"He's sick, not planning a picnic."
Grandma pushed past me. "And the tea? Did you make the tea?"
"Not yet, but—"
"Move."
Grandma shoved me aside and breezed into the room, carrying something on a tray. Something that smelled like shit, actual shit, not Donkey.
"So you say you're sick?" Grandma paced in front of Jace's bed. He had that deer-in-headlights look that people get when they don't know how to lie to save their lives.
I made wild gestures behind Grandma, grabbing my throat and then touching my forehead and finally covering my left eye. Unfortunately, she chose that exact moment to turn around.
"What are you doing?"
"P-pirate."
"Role play," Jace interjected. "When I was a kid, my dad used to do a pirate voice to make me feel better."
"Oh, how lovely." Grandma took a seat on the bed. "You may proceed, Beth."
"Yes, Beth," Jace's stone face cracked into a smile, "proceed. You know how much better it makes my tummy."
I was going to kill him. No, better yet, I was going to leave him to Grandma, see how he liked her as a nurse when she was stabbing a needle in his godlike ass.
"Well?" Grandma urged.
I pasted a smile on my face and swung my arm in front of my body. "Ahoy, matey. Thar be booty t'seek."
Jace covered his mouth with his hands and started coughing.
Grandma's face drew together in concern. "Dear, maybe a career in theatre isn't in your future. But who am I to judge? If that makes poor Jace feel better then…" She shrugged. "Besides if that doesn't work, I brought my magic tea."
"Magic tea?" I asked, peering over her petite shoulder. She lifted the top of the container and pointed inside. "See the chicken feathers?"
Jace's eyes widened in horror.
"Why yes," I grinned, "I do."
"It's an ancient recipe, passed down through my family. What you do is, you boil the feathers in hot water then drink the hot water once the feathers have been boiled for at least eight minutes."
"Tasty." I almost threw up in my mouth.
"We should count our lucky stars that the restaurant had some live chickens out back. I plucked a few of these beauts and steamed them right up."
"I bet Jace is counting his stars right now."
He flipped me off and glared.
"Here, Jace," Grandma poured some cloudy liquid into a white cup and handed it to him, "this will make you all better. You do want to get better, don't you?"
"Yes." His jaw flexed.
Holy crap. He was going to do it. He was going to drink the tea. I almost didn't want to look, but I couldn't help it. He brought the cup to his lips, took a small sip, and grimaced before pulling it back. A small feather attached itself to his lips.
"Oh dear, it was a male chicken. I can always tell these things." Grandma pulled the feather from Jace's lips and chuckled. "Back when I sexed chickens, well, it was my job to figure out which was which."
"Sexed. Chickens?" Jace repeated, his voice hoarse. "That's not a job, Grandma. And I doubt this works."
You'd think Jace would have already learned his lesson: Never doubt Grandma. And when she says something that just shouts crazy, don't engage. Just back away and leave it alone. Because it was a guarantee that something insane, illogical, and, nine times out of ten, illegal would be shared in her presence.
"It works, and it is too a job. Want to know how to tell the difference between a female chicken and a male chicken?"
"No. No, I don't." Jace shook his head. "I'm sick. I want a good night's sleep without visions of you sexing chickens."
"Not until your tea's finished," Grandma instructed, urging the tea closer to his mouth. He seemed to pale as the cup was brought closer to his lips.
Jace's eyes darted to mine. I knew that look. It was fear, pure fear. I took pity on the guy; after all, he was drinking feather tea.