I Hope He Is A Gentleman

It was as if the coffee table in Geno's living room had become a mini-pharmacy. When I finally woke up after what felt like a year-long nap, I was greeted with the site of probably ever medicine (flu related or not) Geno owned spread out on the table. There was pain medicine, fever medicine, a couple boxes of Russian medicine that I didn't recognize, a bottle of green mouth wash, a water bottle, a bottle of yellow gatorade, and a thermometer. Next to it all was my backpack, along with the change of clothes neatly folded (today, a pair of jeans and yet another old t-shirt) that I was planning on wearing to class. I grabbed the clothes and the mouthwash and wandered into the bathroom in the hall. I considered checking my temperature, but I didn't need to be told what I already knew: I was sick.

After changing into comfortable clothing and ridding myself of the awful taste in my mouth, I managed to find my way back into the kitchen. Geno was sitting at the table on his laptop, his back facing me, and I could see he was reading some Russian website about the KHL.

"Geno?" I called, and he instantly turned around.

"How're you feeling?" He asked, getting up from his chair and walking towards me. He stopped a little bit in front of me -- far enough away for me not to get any ideas, but too close to keep me from thinking about them.

I wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with Russian at the moment. "I'm okay, still a little tired." Geno nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Thank you," I added. "For all the medicine."

"You take?" I shook my head. "Remy..." He sighed, and walked past me into the living room. I followed sheepishly. When I entered, he was already sitting down on the sofa and opening different bottles. I sat down next to him and he immediately handed me the thermometer. "Under tongue," he stated. "Wait for beep." I complied, tucking my feet under me while waiting for the thermometer to be done.

Geno beat me to it when the device indicated it was finished. Before I could reach up and take it, he removed it from my mouth. "101.7. Very sick." He busied himself by pouring a bit of the liquid fever reducer and taking out two pills from one of the Russian boxes. I gladly accepted the liquid, but eyed the pills cautiously. "Russian medicine. Make you feel better faster." Geno pushed the pills in my direction, and I relented and swallowed them with some of the gatorade.

"Can we watch TV?" I asked, draping the blanket over my lap. I purposefully left half of it in between me and Geno, incase he wanted some as well, but as per usual, Geno didn't take the bait. Geno nodded and reached for the remote. The TV turned on to ESPN, but he flipped away, instead leaving it on a Russian news channel. "Just because you have flu, doesn't mean you don't learn." I pursed my lips but didn't say anything -- watching Russian TV wasn't so bad when I was watching it next to Geno.

I could feel my eyes starting to droop after ten minutes or so, and I began shifting on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position. I'm not sure how I ended up like that, but eventually, my head was resting right next to Geno's thigh, my knees bent towards my stomach. I could feel Geno's leg tense up, but slowly he relaxed. I wish I had been able to see his facial expression.

"Why do you hate me?" I asked, feeling a little more at ease and relaxed than I should have. Looking back, I blame those Russian pills Geno gave me.

"What?" He responded, propping his feet up in the coffee table.

"You hate me," I stated, yanking up the blanket under my chin. "You want me to spend all my time with James."

"James likes you," Geno insisted. "Likes you a lot."

"I don't like him, though," I responded.

"James my teammate. He sees you first day, says 'I like her. I want her.' So, I help him. Good teammate."

I scoffed. "And what about my opinion? That doesn't matter?"

"All girls fall for James eventually," Geno responded casually.

I opened my mouth to respond, but didn't. Instead, I changed the subject. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Again, Geno's leg tensed. "No. Old girlfriend lives in Russia. We don't talk right now."

"What happened?" I pried. God, what was I doing? Who the hell did I think I was? But the questions kept coming out, like I had no control over what I was asking.

"Distance," Geno paused. "She doesn't trust me."

"Did you ever -- "

"No!" Snapped Geno, his tone probably the harshest and most aggressive I had ever heard from him. I bit my lip and snapped my eyes shut, waiting for him to continue his yelling, but that was all he said. Finally, he continued (at a much softer and normal level), "Never. I never, never cheat on her."

We were silent, until I said, "One of my old boyfriends cheated on me. I mean, he told me about it the next morning, but it still hurt."

"Scum," responded Geno through gritted teeth.

"Geno, I -- " I began, turning my neck so I could see him. His eyes had softened, small pieces of black hair falling over his face and ears. He looked like he was waiting for me to say something, but all I could get out was, "I wanna take another nap."

"Sick girl," he said, watching as I lifted myself up and began to turn over so I wouldn't be distracted by the TV. However, as I was getting comfortable, Geno pushed himself over slightly, so when I lay back down, my head fell right on his thigh. I froze, but as I went to move away, I felt his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. "Go to sleep," he whispered, hand still on my shoulder.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin, and fell asleep with a soft smile on my lips.