All He Wants Read online

  I glanced over at Sheridan's bed. A shapeless lump was barely visible under the silver satin comforter.

  “Sheridan?”

  She didn't answer. I said her name louder. She groaned in response.

  “There's a spider on your bed,” I said loudly.

  The comforter shifted and Sheridan sprang into a sitting position, her blond hair a tangled mess in front of her face. “What? Where?” she shrieked. I didn't think she had a true case of arachnophobia but she was close.

  “Okay, so it's not on your bed,” I said.

  She glared at me.

  “But it might be,” I told her. “Because something chewed me up last night. Big time.” I stood up and motioned to my legs.

  Sheridan immediately shielded her eyes. “Jesus, Annika. Put something on, would you?”

  I glanced down at my nude body. “But you like women. And you like my tits. You just said so yesterday.”

  “Eww.” She shifted a finger and one eye peeked out at me. “You're like my sister.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “So you don't think I have a good body?”

  “Oh my God.” She flopped back on to her pillow. “I can't believe we're having this conversation. You are such a narcissist.”

  “I'm a narcissist who is covered in bug bites.”

  “What time is it?”

  I picked up my phone to check. “Eight o'clock.”

  “Do you know what time I got in last night?” she asked. “Do you have any idea?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I was asleep.”

  “Exactly.” She moved her hand away from her face and closed her eyes. “It was two o'clock. In the morning.”

  “Six hours isn't so bad.”

  “Six hours isn't enough.”

  “Okay, well you can go back to sleep if you want,” I said. I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a gray tank top and slipped it on. I lifted one foot off the floor and used it to rub the spot on my calf. “But keep your eyes open for flesh-eating spiders.”

  “You know I can't go back to sleep now,” she grumbled. She sat up again, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

  “Good,” I said. I opened the top drawer of my dresser and rummaged for a pair of panties. “You can go shopping with me. I need a new bikini for my trip.” The red bikini I'd worn to the beach yesterday afternoon was fine, but I wanted something new for Stuart.

  “Don't they go topless in Brazil?” Sheridan asked. “And bottomless?”

  “Do they?” I hadn't seen anything about that on the web sites I'd looked at.

  She nodded. “I think so. You'll feel right at home.”

  “Still,” I said. “I should get a new swimsuit. Just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  I smiled. “Just in case I want to leave a few things to the imagination.”

  Sheridan rolled her eyes. “Stuart has already seen you naked. From what you've told me, you spent more time with him without clothes on than with. Pretty sure he knows what's waiting for him underneath a swimsuit.”

  “I know,” I said. I picked up a hair elastic from my nightstand and twisted my hair into a loose ponytail. I needed to shower before I went shopping but I wanted coffee first. “But the Brazilian-style bikinis are hot. I can let my whole ass hang out and no one will bat an eye.”

  Sheridan's gaze sharpened. “Stop.”

  My hands froze in mid-air, my fingers still wrapped around my hair. “What? What's wrong with my ass?” I turned around, trying to look.

  “Not your ass, idiot. Your arms.”

  I grinned. “Oh. They look good, right? I've been working out. Trying to get a little more definition. Flabby arms are the worst.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. She lifted her hand and motioned for me to come toward her.

  “What?” I asked again, crossing the room so I was standing in front of her.

  She picked up my arm and lifted it, inspecting the underside.

  “You're freaking me out.”

  She dropped my arm, then picked up the other. A funny look crossed her face.

  “Sheridan.” My voice came out like a command. “What the hell is wrong?”

  “Your arms,” she said. “Your arms are covered with spots.”

  “Ew,” I said. I twisted my arm so I could see. There were at least half a dozen red welts on my arm. Sheridan's eyes were huge when I finally turned my attention back to her. “I told you. We're infested!”

  THREE

  “They're bites,” I said stubbornly.

  Sheridan stirred creamer into her cup of coffee and took a sip. She hadn't taken her make-up off the night before and her eyes were smudged with day-old mascara and eyeliner. She looked like a blond raccoon. “They're not bites.”

  “Yeah, they are,” I told her. I took a gulp of my own coffee. “Lindsey went to Las Vegas last weekend.” Lindsey was one of our sorority sisters. “We know she stayed in that dive hotel with Connor because he's dirt poor and can't afford the hotels on the Strip. Guess what? It was probably crawling with bedbugs. It was probably crawling with a lot of other stuff, too.” I shivered. “And she brought them home when she came by and infected the whole goddamn house.”

  “She was here for an hour.”

  “They move fast.” I thought about a news clip I'd watched a few months back. “And they're sneaky little fuckers.”

  “Annika.” Her tone was reproachful.

  “So now we're gonna have to get the entire house treated. Wash everything. Get new furniture. All because Lindsey is dating a total fucking loser.”

  There weren't many guys I didn't like but Connor was one of them. Not just because he didn't have any money—although that did paint a big L on his forehead as far as I was concerned—but because he had the personality of a snail. He never talked, never smiled, and never acknowledged me. He looked like a horse turned into a human with his long snout of a nose, huge mouth with big, horsey teeth, and enormous brown eyes that were sad and soulful and seemed to stare right into my soul.

  I made a face, just thinking about him.

  “Annika,” Sheridan repeated.

  I looked at her.

  “If we had bedbugs, I'd be covered with bites, too.” She extended her long, tanned legs, shifting in her seat so I could see the backs of her calves and thighs. “And I'm not.”

  “They just haven't found you yet,” I said. “Maybe they don't like lesbians.”

  She frowned at me. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. I swallowed another mouthful of coffee. “I like lesbians. I'm not prejudice. But maybe bedbugs are.”

  She sighed. “We do not have bedbugs.” I opened my mouth to argue but she cut me off. “You have hives.”

  I made a face. “Hives? How the hell would I have gotten hives?”

  “I dunno. Did you eat something different last night?” she asked. “Try out a new laundry soap or shampoo or something?”

  “No,” I said. “I did not shampoo my legs. Or my arms.”

  She frowned.

  I sighed loudly. “I didn't eat or use anything new.”

  “Sleep with anyone new?”

  I shot her a look. “No.”

  She cracked a smile. “Well, those aren't insect bites,” she said, waving her hand at me.

  “Since when are you a nurse?” I asked. “Is there some additional training you're getting at Red Lobster that you're not telling me about? Do they have seminars for their hostesses? How to spot a seafood allergy? Or maybe that's their way of making sure their employees leave after a few months—offer up some cool workshops so everyone can see what a shitty job they actually have.”

  “Are you PMSing or something?” She made a face at me. “Because your bitch quotient is at an all-time high.”

  “I'm covered in bites by something infesting our house. I think I deserve to be a little bitchy right now.”

  “Not a little,” she muttered.

  “Fine. A lot. I am
a lot bitchy right now.”

  “They're not bites,” she repeated.

  “I'm calling Lindsey,” I said, ignoring her and picking up my phone. “She's gonna have to pay for the cleaning.”

  Her hand came down on mine. Hard. “You have hives.”

  I swatted her away.

  “You have one on your face,” she said.

  My hand flew to my cheek. “What? Where?” My scalp suddenly started to itch and all I could think of was that I was probably crawling with a combination of bedbugs and fleas and lice.

  “Right below your eye.”

  “They were on my face???”

  “Will you listen to me?” she said, exasperated. “They're not bites.”

  I scratched at my head. “You don't know that.”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said. She was staring at me critically, her eyes studying my face like it was something she needed to memorize.

  “How?” I asked. “They're practically invisible, aren't they? Bedbugs?” I wondered if there was a magnifying glass somewhere in the house. Megan was majoring in biology; she was bound to have some science-y stuff in her room.

  “No, actually, they're not,” Sheridan said, shaking her head.

  “So you see one?” I backed my chair away from the table, jostling it, and coffee sloshed out of my cup. “Where?”

  “No, you idiot, I don't see one.” She frowned. “But I did see that hive literally form on your face while I was talking to you.”

  I rubbed at the spot she'd pointed to. There was a tiny bump and it itched. A lot.

  “Well, shit.” I turned my leg over. There were a couple of new spots since I'd last inspected them. And no bugs in sight. “What am I supposed to do? Take Benadryl or something?”

  Sheridan took another sip of coffee and thought for a minute. “I'd call the doctor. Get it checked out.”

  “No,” I told her. “I don't have time for a doctor's appointment. I'm leaving the country tomorrow. I have a million things I need to do.” Like buy a Brazilian-style swimsuit.

  I stood up and walked over to the kitchen sink. There were a few dishes piled in the basin—a glass and a plate caked with remnants of the nachos I'd wolfed down the night before—and I felt a momentary pang of guilt. I'd forgotten to load them into the dishwasher. I drained my coffee cup and hesitated for just a second before setting it in the sink next to the other dishes. Sheridan would clean up. She always did.

  “Yeah, well, you're gonna look like a walking chicken pox if you don't get it under control,” she said. “And I don't think an over-the-counter medicine is gonna take care of this, Annika.”

  “It's going to have to,” I said, turning back to face her. “Because I don't have time for this.”

  FOUR

  “I can't believe I'm back here.”

  I glanced at my friend slouched in a vinyl chair and scowled in her direction. “You? What about me? I'm sitting on the stupid exam table again.”

  Sheridan sighed and glanced down at her phone. “Well, you're covered in spots. Where else are you supposed to be sitting?”

  “In my car,” I said. “On the way to the mall. To get a smoking hot bikini. Remember?”

  That's what I'd planned to do. I'd tossed my coffee mug in the sink and gone back upstairs and hopped in the shower, thinking I'd just go on with my plans for the day. I'd made my bed, re-dressed for the day and returned to the bathroom to dry my hair. And that was when I'd noticed dozens more red marks dotting my arms, legs and face. I'd stripped my clothes off and stared at my reflection in the mirror. The welts had turned rash-like, spreading to my chest and my stomach. I looked like a freak show.

  And I didn't feel so hot, either.

  The door to the exam room opened and Dr. Volk stepped inside. He was about my dad's age, his hair wiry and gray, his eyebrows like two hairy caterpillars perched on his face. He smiled and shut the door behind him.

  “So,” he said, sitting down on a stool and sliding it toward me. “What do we have here?”

  “Spots,” I told him. “We have spots. All over.”

  He tapped at the tablet he was holding, studied it for a minute, then set it on the rolling tray next to him. He slid closer to me and picked up my arm. His hands were cold and goosebumps prickled my skin.

  “Sorry,” he said. He ran his fingers over some of the bumps, then brought his face close to mine. He smelled like coffee and stale toothpaste. He lifted his hand and touched the marks on my cheek and under my eyes.

  He grabbed an otoscope from the rolling cart and pointed it at my mouth. “Open.”

  I opened and he peered inside.

  “Nothing going on in there,” he said. “That's good.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Hives can appear internally, too,” he said. “I don't see any so that's a good thing. Yours are all external.”

  Sheridan made a noise and I glanced at her. She had a smug expression on her face at his diagnosis.

  “Okay.” My hand moved to my leg and I scratched at one of the welts. “So, nothing to worry about?”

  “Well,” he said, picking up the tablet again. “You're not having an anaphylactic reaction. So that's also good.”

  I waited for him to elaborate.

  “But you've got a pretty bad case,” he said. “You said they just showed up this morning? All of these?”

  I nodded.

  “And you had your vaccinations yesterday.” He said it as a statement, not a question, but I nodded again.

  “Nothing else new?” he asked. “Any new foods? New bath or laundry products?”

  Sheridan snickered and I narrowed my eyes at her. “No,” I told the doctor.

  He nodded, his stylus moving across the screen. “So, I'd say this is a reaction to one of the immunizations.”

  “A reaction?”

  “We'll get it under control,” he said. His eyebrows drew together, morphing into a long, hairy line. “But we'll need to make sure you don't get those vaccines again.”

  “Done.” I'd be happy to never see a needle again.

  Sheridan spoke up. “Is there something you can give her for the hives? Besides over-the-counter stuff?”

  Dr. Volk nodded. “Over-the-counter meds won't work for this. We'll get you on prednisone to help get them under control.”

  “How long do I have to take it?” I asked.

  “Normal course is five days,” he said. “And then I'll need to see you back here.”

  I shook my head. “I can't. I'm leaving for Brazil tomorrow.”

  The caterpillar eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Tomorrow?”

  I nodded.

  He pressed his lips together. “You can't postpone?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I already have my ticket.” And a super-hot guy is waiting for me.

  Dr. Volk sighed and tapped at the tablet again. “Have you used prednisone before?”

  I shook my head again.

  “There's the potential that you could have a reaction,” he warned. “I don't think leaving the country is a wise decision. At least not until we know how you'll respond to it.”

  “Could I just take one dose?” I asked hopefully. “I mean, these will go away today, right? Now that I'm getting meds?” I was counting on it because the last thing I wanted was for Stuart to see me looking like a walking advertisement for measles.

  “Today?” Dr. Volk chuckled. “No. The prednisone works fairly quickly but you've got a pretty nasty case. And you'll need to take the entire course of steroids for it to be effective. I'm afraid it'll take a good week before these are fully gone.”

  “A week?” My eyes flew to Sheridan, who was watching with a mixture of concern and amusement, then back to the doctor sitting next to me. “I don't have a week. I'm leaving tomorrow!”

  “I can contact a clinic in Brazil, provided you let me know where you'll be staying. Perhaps we can make some arrangements for you to be seen when you get there, just to make sure everything is going okay with t
he prednisone. I'm not sure if your insurance will cover a visit so you'll want to check on that.”

  “I have to go to the doctor in a foreign country?”

  “Well, there's always the possibility you could have a reaction to the prednisone,” Dr. Volk pointed out. “I'd just feel better if we had a Plan B in place for when you're out of the country. Just in case we need it.”

  I wasn't listening. I stared at the angry red marks dotting my legs. I wasn't thinking about the medicine anymore, or the possibility of going to a doctor who might not speak English.

  A week. It could take a week for them to disappear.

  I couldn't let Stuart see me like this.

  I hopped off the table. “Never mind.”

  “Never mind what?” the doctor asked.

  I picked up my purse. “Don't worry about Brazil.”

  “Excuse me?” His eyebrows rose again and I looked away because they freaked me out.

  “Don't worry about Brazil,” I repeated. “Because I'm not going.”

  FIVE

  I stared at the text box open on my computer. I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, anti-itch lotion slathered over every inch of my body. Stuart's avatar stared serenely at me from the top left corner of my screen. I tried not to look at the green call button on the right.

  Why are we texting on here?

  Because.

  Because why?

  Just because.

  I have Internet. We could be Skyping. Naked.

  I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

  No. I'm sick.

  Sick? Sick, how?

  I didn't want to tell him I looked like I'd contracted leprosy.

  Just sick.

  There was a pause and no text from him came through. Then the call box flashed on my screen, the ringing noise startling me. I lifted my hands off the keyboard so I wouldn't be tempted to click over. There was no way in hell Stuart was going to see me looking like this. Not on a screen and not in person.