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He grins. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.”
“Your mom’s periods must have really been hell,” I say, feeling a fresh wave of sympathy for Nolan’s mom. Part of me feels worse for the young boy who had to step up and be a man for her when his own father wouldn’t, though.
He nods, rubbing at his eyes as he wakes himself up.
“Thank you,” I say. “For the medicine and looking out for me. It was sweet of you. I’m sorry if I was snappy before. I just… I guess I don’t know how to completely trust your intentions right now.”
“Can’t say I blame you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You can’t?”
He chuckles to himself. “I know I’ve been difficult.”
I very nearly interject and let him know that “difficult” would be an understatement. “You think?” I ask, grinning a little.
He opens his mouth, closes it, and hangs his head, nodding. “It felt simpler to try to make you like all the other girls, I think. To imagine you as just a distraction.”
I wait, because his words are making it feel like invisible fists are slowly squeezing the air from my lungs.
“But we do have a past,” he says finally. “And I want to be mad at you. I am still mad at you. That doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about you. Okay?”
“I give a shit about you, too,” I admit.
I think he’s grinning, but I can’t really tell in the dark. “Want me to cover for you tomorrow at Taste?” he asks, standing up.
“No, no,” I say. “I usually just have one bad day of cramps. I’ll be a little uncomfortable tomorrow, but I’ll be fine. Wait, it’s not tomorrow yet, is it? How long did I sleep?”
He checks his phone. “Not tomorrow. Just later than when we got here.”
I sigh, sitting back with relief. Despite what I said, I’m not sure I could handle the thought of rushing out of bed at this moment and going to work. Thank you, though.”
“I’ll be there for your shift. If you need to head home, just let me know.”
“You think Zander will let you work my station?” I ask. It’s halfway a joke, but I can almost sense Nolan tensing in the darkness.
“Zander works for me,” he says, voice cold and powerful. “He’ll like what I tell him to like.” He pauses for a moment. “And he won’t like what I tell him not to like.”
I wonder if that last part was about me. I also wonder why I’m still getting warm fuzzies whenever Nolan acts protective toward me. I broke things off with him. I spent two years convincing myself I hated the man he became and didn’t have any regrets about leaving him. So why’s my body trying to act like none of that is true?
“Thanks,” I say.
“Stop thanking me,” Nolan says. “My mom would kick my ass if she knew I didn’t look after you.”
“I never took you for a momma’s boy. It’s cute.”
“A man who doesn’t care about his mom isn’t much of a man,” he says. The words come out almost like they’re a mantra he has been repeating to himself for years–no doubt most of those feelings are directed towards his father.
Nolan comes to the side of the bed and puts his hand to my head. “Are you hot?”
“A little,” I say, pretending the flush running across my skin is from my period symptoms and not from my interaction with him.
“I’ll find you a lighter blanket. Hungry, yet?”
“I could eat,” I say slowly.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup?”
“Ohh,” I bite my lip. “That actually sounds perfect.”
