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“You don’t have to be scared.”
She laughed, slightly hysterical. “I’m notscared.” But I could see that was a lie. She was terrified. She was petrified to let her guard down and find that she actually enjoyed what we were doing here. “All liking someone has ever gotten me is heartbreak. I’m the bad girlfriend, remember?”
“Why don’t we put the labels aside? We’re good together. You’ve seen that for the last week. It waseasywith my family becausewe’reeasy, Whit.”
“We … we are.”
The admission felt like a balm. “I’m not asking you to marry me.”Yet. The word was left unsaid as I stared down into her wide, frightened eyes. “I’m asking you to see how this goes while we do the right thing by your dad.”
“You really mean it?”
“It’s your father’s dying wish, Whitley. It seems cruel to deny him that.”
She nodded once, folding herself against my chest. I wrapped her tight against me, and it was the most incredible feeling. I wanted to hold her like this for eternity. She sniffled against me, and I brushed a kiss on the top of her head.
“We’ll figure this out together, pixie.”
18
WHITLEY
The next morning, I woke in a big, comfy bed. Gavin’s bed. I rolled over and found the other side of the California king empty. The shower was running in the next room. The man showered more than anyone else I knew.
I sank back down into the plush mattress and tugged the comforter up to my chin. I was in one of Gavin’s oversize T-shirts. Nothing had happened. I’d fallen asleep in his bed, and nothing had happened. Well, I’d cried a lot, and he’d held me, stroking my hair, without complaint. I didn’t know what to make of that.
Or the conversation we’d had last night.
Or my dad’s diagnosis.
It was the first time that I’d ever been furious that I had chosen plastic surgery instead of something more helpful … like oncology. I could have been curing cancer this entire time. Not that I’d everwantedto, but that seemed irrational at this present moment.
I had no more expertise in this than an oncologist had in a face lift. And still, I was mad that I’d put myself in this position.
I wanted to avoid the reality of my father’s cancer nearly as much as what had happened last night with Gavin.
Did this mean we were dating? A spike of fear shot through me. I’d told him the truth. I broke relationships, and if we had a real relationship, whether or not the marriage would be real, I was sure I’d hurt him. Of course, he thought the same thing. So, we were at an impasse there.
It was all too complicated to focus on. Last night felt like a fever dream. None of it could have possibly been real. Let alone all of it.
And yet here I was, in Gavin’s apartment, with two missed calls from my mom and a text message from my dad about meeting. It was real. I wasn’t going to wake up to a new world. This was my reality.
“Morning,” Gavin said, jolting me from my spiraling.
“Hey.”
I might have been depressed, but I wasn’t blind. Gavin was wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his waist, and he looked fucking fantastic. Water still clung to his red-brown hair. It dripped into his eyes, and he brushed his hand back through it, slicking it backward.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I tilted my head to get a clearer view of the eight-pack abs. “Better now.”
He laughed softly. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Please, humor is all I have left.”
Then, I snatched up his towel and ran across the room with it. Gavin’s jaw dropped, and without warning, he chased after me. There was nowhere to go anyway, but he caught me with ease, slinging me over his shoulder and plopping us both on the bed.
“You’re mischief incarnate.”
