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She pretended to puke.
“It’s really not that bad. You couldn’t have always been against meat. You must’ve had it at some point in your life.”
Turning her hair upside down to run her fingers through it, she said, “Not since I could think for myself.”
I tilted my head so I was upside down too. “When was that? Last year?”
She flipped her hair back and stood tall, yet she still had to crane her neck to meet me eyes. There was something about how petite she was that I really,reallyliked. A desire to toss her over my shoulder—she couldn’t weigh more than a sack of potatoes—and bring her back to my cave where I could make a home between her legs. Though she’d probably hate that since my cave would undoubtedly be cleaner than her apartment.
“I haven’t eaten meat in twenty years,” she said, draping her towel around her shoulders.
“Are you cold?”
“Not really.” But her shiver gave her away, and I held my hand out.
“Let’s get you warmed up.” I failed at biting back a smile when she laced her fingers with mine. Those prickly needles were retracting one by one. All my little cactus required was some sun and fun.
I escorted her inside the house and into the kitchen, where I sat her at the massive kitchen island then proceeded to make coffee.
“You know this place well,” she said, touching the brass pots and pans hanging above her head.
“I would hope so. I used to live here.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded, retrieving two mugs from a shelf above my head.
“Is Frank your long-lost uncle or something?”
“Kinda. He and my dad met in college. They were best friends.” I poured the coffee and carefully carried it over to the island before opening up the refrigerator. “Do you want cream?”
She pointed at her chest. “No animal products, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Sorry.” I cringed and rummaged inside the fridge. “Uh…there’s…” I pulled out a plastic tub. “Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Sugar is fine.”
I handed her the little cup filled with sugar, and she proceeded to dump about a dozen spoonfuls into her cup. I watched, shaking my head in amusement.
“What?” She pushed the sugar back my way. “I like it really sweet.” Then she held her steaming mug between her hands. “So, why did you live here and not with your parents?”
Keeping my attention on my spoon, I stirred cream into my coffee until it was light brown. “My parents died when I was thirteen, and I moved in here with Frank.”
Gemma covered her face with her hands. “Oh my god, Jason. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay.” I tugged on her fingers until she lowered her hands, then casually sipped my coffee. It was a long time ago, and though it still hurt, I wasn’t comfortable with sympathy from other people. I never knew what to say. “Frank’s wife had passed away a few months before. We helped each other through it.”
She pushed out her bottom lip. “I feel so stupid. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes it feels like a hundred years ago. My life is so different now than it was then.” I folded my body over the counter, so my face was centimeters from hers. “But,” I said pointedly, “maybe if you weren’t so judgmental, you’d have taken some time to get to know me.”
She brought her hands to her chest, in fake outrage. “Me, judgmental?”
“Is there someone else in this room who called me pretentious?”
She opened her mouth but her jaw only flapped a few times. I loved when I rendered her speechless. When I could get this woman who wielded her words like a sword to shut up.
I breathed her in, coffee and chlorine enveloping us in an odd but wonderful mixture, and it seeped deep into my lungs I was sure I’d always associate these scents with her. She closed her eyes like it was too much for her.
