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“Archie…”
“Yeah, I know, I don’t have to pay for everything. You don’t want me for my money. You haveneverwanted me for my money or been anything more than exasperated with me when I spend it. As long as I have it, let me use it to do this. You’re worrying about everything…”
“If they put this in a cast, it could be another four weeks, maybe longer, and then there’s the PT after.” It all cost money. So much money, and it would keep adding up.
“Frankie,” he said, squeezing my hand, and his tone accompanied by the hard look in his eyes demanded I listen. “You got a scholarship.”
“Yes, but…”
“You got a hell of a scholarship.”
I had. I’d been over the moon about it.
“And didn’t you just get offered that internship that could lead to more grants?”
I had but…
“You have a lot already in savings.”
“But life is bills, Archie…”
“Okay. How much?”
I glared at him, and he blinked back at me, seemingly undisturbed by my irritation. “You can’t just pay for everything.”
“Sure I can, as long as I have it and you need it, what the hell else am I going to do with it? Frankie, I just told you I’ve never had a job. You’re right, I need to get one. I need to understand what it is to work for a living. But I also have money. Okay fine, myfamilyhas money.”
“I’m not my mother.”
“No,” he said fiercely, sliding a hand up to cup my nape. “You’re nothing like her. Look, I’m not making excuses for them or anything. This—you and me? We’re not them. Who they are and what they are to each other, it hasnothingto do withus.”
I swallowed.
“Dammit.”
He blew out a breath. “What? C’mon, babe, I’m trying to fix this, work with me here.”
“I came here to be here for you, not so you have to fix it for me.” Ugh. The whole reason I’d come to the house tonight was because I was worried about him, and we were right back to discussing my problems.
“Well, I happen to like fixing your problems,” he told me tartly. “So deal with it, buttercup.”
I scowled at the mere mention of that nickname, and he grinned. “You don’t get to enjoy me being annoyed.”
“Why not?” He raised his brows. “Get pissed off at me, Frankie. Snap at me. Thump me. I can take it.”
I let out a little scream, and he actually laughed at me.
Asshole.
“I love that look on your face,” he told me, stroking his thumb along my neck. “I love it when you push back and put me in my place. You haveneverbeen a pushover.”
I snorted. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirmed. “You set all the rules. All the boundaries. The only thing I’ve ever done was try to play inside them.”
“Bull. Shit.”
I spit each syllable out with emphasis, and he laughed.
