“Okay, good.” He grabs a pair of shorts from his dresser. “I’m going to grab us some coffee. Be right back.”
I take advantage of his departure to jump into the bathroom myself and clean up.
Looking in the mirror, my hair’s a complete bird’s nest.Nobody’s going to think anything’s fake with you looking like that.
I give a little snort at the thought and mercifully find a brush in one of Rawley’s drawers.
When he comes back with our coffee, I’m still working out a few knots.
“Here’s yours,” he says, setting it down on the dresser before taking a seat with his mug on the bed.
“Thanks.”Brush, brush.These dang knots.
He takes in what I’m doing. “You know, you can leave stuff here if you want. I mean, if you ever need some things.” His voice sounds uncertain. If it were another guy, I would think it’s because he’s being insincere in his offer, but with Rawley I know it’s something else.
“I should probably just get better at throwing the right things in my purse.” A tease at myself becausehello, how did I not bring a brush of any kind last night?
He blinks. “Oh yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Wait, no.
“Rawley.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need to say you’re sorry to me about anything.”
“Oh, sor—” He stops, and then looks annoyed at himself.
I set the brush down.
I don’t exactly know what’s made him fall into this pattern of apologizing so often, but it’s definitely a thing. Same with the negative self-talk I’ve heard from him sometimes.
The Rawley Battle I’ve gotten to know is a gem of a man. I don’t get it.
Grabbing my coffee, I take a seat on the bed next to him.
Keeping my voice soft, I ask the question. “Why do you do that? Say you’re sorry so much?”
“I…it’s really early for this serious a topic.” His tone is dismissive, but it doesn’t hold any heat. “You don’t need to be burdened with my stuff.”
I smile at him. “Rawley Battle, if you haven’t noticed, I kind of like you and your stuff. You’re the fake boyfriend of my dreams.” He gives a grin back. “But only if you want to share.”
His face transforms to a more contemplative expression. “Yeah, I mean. I don’t mind sharing with you at all.”
I stay silent but keep the smile on my face as encouragement. I don’t want to force the issue.
He taps his coffee mug a few times, looking down at it while he starts explaining.
“I guess I’ll give you the short version?”
“Okay, whatever you want.”
Tap.“When I was growing up, I was always a high-energy kid, fidgeting in class, struggling with focus. It didn’t really matter in elementary school, where it was like, ‘oh, he’s just being a little boy, blah blah…”
What he’s describing resonates with me. I feel like I overheard adults saying the same thing about a couple of the boys I grew up with.
“But then it caught up with me in middle school. I couldn’t stay organized, I’d forget stuff and of course, all the memorizing that you start having to do for school, I was terrible at it. By the time I was in high school, I’d heard I was ‘dumb’ or ‘lazy’ way too many times to count. And you start to believe that about yourself when you hear it so often, you know?”
