Qiao Jing instinctively reached out to catch the man, but he smoothly placed his hand on her waist.
Zhan Qipei held the woman's waist and buried his head between her neck.
After smelling the scent of her body wash, he took several deep breaths.
Feeling the man's burning temperature, Qiao Jing furrowed her brows even tighter and looked towards the living room table.
She saw that the fever medicine on the table was still in its place and pursed her lips, feeling slightly angry.
"Zhan Qipei, walk on your own, don't lean on me."
Having a fever and not taking medicine was one thing, going out to drink was another.
Zhan Qipei didn't move. The hand placed on the woman's waist gradually tightened, buried in her neck, refusing to speak.
Anger tinged Qiao Jing's eyes as she forcibly removed the man's hand and walked over to the couch in the living room.
Her expression cooled down as she put the fever medicine back in the medicine box.
