Pucking Ever After (Jacksonville Rays, #2.5)

by Emily Rath

“What can I do for you, baby? How can I help?” “You can’t. There’s nothing. Leave me on this floor to die.” I smirk, crossing my arms. “Nope. Remember, I told you, that’s not happening today. Once we get your stomach empty, I’ll help you get back in bed. I’ll set you up with a trash can and some water. Want anything to be more comfortable now?” She shifts the washcloth off her forehead, blinking up at me. “Oh god…Ryan…look at you.” With a raised brow, I shift fully into the bathroom and look in the mirror. My eyes go wide. Okay, so it’s not like I had no tan before. I live in Florida, and I regularly run on the beach with my shirt off. I had a definite base layer of tan going. But now, I swear to god, I look like a human candy cane. My shoulders, nose, and cheeks are an unnatural shade of red. Like, verging on purple. We’ll call it maroon. It makes the rest of my skin look milky white in comparison. “Well, fuck. That’s gonna peel real nice,” I add, turning to smile down at her. “There’s a jar of Aquaphor in my suitcase,” she says with a weak wave of her arm. “You need to get that skin some moisture, or it’s gonna get ten times worse.”