The Beach House (a The Kissing Booth novella)

8: The Beach House

Double celebration! I have less than 10,000 words left to write for NaNoWriMo (despite the fact that story is no where near finished, haha!) and I'm almost caught up on that, and (now this is the big one) The Kissing Booth has just today reached 100,000 votes!!! One hundred thousand! Oh my gosh!!!! That's amazing, I can't thank you guys enough!! I appreciate it so much :D Especially considering I've entered it into the Watty Awards, haha!

Anyhow, hope you enjoy this chapter! xx

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Chapter 8

I spent the next day in bed. And I literally did not leave my bed except to use the bathroom. Lee was making the most of the last of his time with Rachel before her parents came to get her. I might’ve minded if I wasn’t sick.

            When the storm hadn’t let up after about twenty minutes or so of Noah and me seeking refuge at the old shack, we decided we had no choice – which we really didn’t. I didn’t have my cell, and the storm had messed up the signal on Noah’s cell so he couldn’t get through to anyone.

            So we had to run back to the beach house. In the rain.

            Neither of us were surprised to wake up with headaches, stuffy noses and, in my case, a hacking cough.

            I felt so gross, I didn’t even want to leave my bed. I tried, got three steps toward the door, then groaned and went back under the covers. June brought me some herbal tea, then tea with honey, then chicken soup – and they did make me feel a little better. Well, them and the antibiotics and Nyquil she picked up from the store.

            Lee came in to see me around two in the afternoon. His hair was damp and he was dripping a little.

            “Has Rachel gone?” My voice was croaky and rough, raw from all the coughing.

            “Not yet. Her parents left late, so it’ll be another couple of hours before they get here. But enough about that.” He launched himself onto my bed so he lay next to me, his nose nearly touching mine. I held my breath, because I didn’t want him to get sick. “How’re you feeling?”

            I shrugged, then pulled my pajama top over my mouth and nose. “Not too great. Lee, go enjoy your last couple of hours with your girlfriend. We have plenty of time to hang out in the next couple of days.”

            His smile faltered. I could see a little spark die in his eyes. But he tried to keep his tone good-natured and teasing when he said, “Trying to get rid of me, Elle?”

            “No!” I said hastily. I started shaking my head, but stopped because it made me feel dizzy. “I don’t want you getting sick!”

            He laughed, and wrapped an arm around me over the covers, pulling me into a hug – which was kind of awkward with about four layers of blankets between us. “Jeez, Elle, you’re so silly sometimes! I don’t care if I get sick, anyway. I’m hanging out with you. Rachel can cope for a little bit with the TV. My best friend is sick, and that’s way more important.”

            “You left me this morning though.”

            “Yeah, ‘cause you kept on at me to go to the beach!” he defended himself, still laughing and grinning. “And then my mom shooed us out before you could pass on your germs. But you’re missing the point! I’m here to lift your spirits in your time of need.”