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The chills were back, and my fever was probably spiking. Steadying myself, I gave him directions to my apartment. Silence descended again. I didn't put my head on his shoulder.
In front of my place, the curb gleamed with rain. Above us shone my second-story window, outlined with twinkle lights. Patrick got out, opened my door, and helped me up the slippery steps. I shivered in his oversized sweater.
We stood in the hall outside my apartment. On the ground floor, a door banged. Unexpectedly, he touched my cheek. I couldn’t take saying goodbye like this.
“Do you want to come in?” I asked.
The tic in his eye was back: a twitch of the lid. “And do what?”
“Tuck me in. Read me a bedtime story. Talk.”
Patrick exhaled and crossed his arms over his chest. Drops of rain dotted his black leather jacket, smooth and understated. One sleeve pulled back, showing his bare wrist where his watch had been. I wanted to taste that skin. The overhead bulb flickered above his face.
“Christina, even though the nice nurse said so, I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not here for that shit.”
Oh, he could say that, but if he really wanted to leave, he’d already be gone.
I crossed my arms, matching his pose. “I don’t know what shit you’re talking about,” I said coolly, ignoring a surge of dizziness. “You don’t want to tuck me in, fine. But you did something nice for me tonight, and I’m inviting you in to say thank you like a civilized person. I baked cookies yesterday. I promise they’re good, because in case you haven’t heard, I’m Cookie Girl.”
“I don’t want a cookie.” His voice dropped to the soft tones that made it hard to think. “I want you to get in bed. Now.”
“You can have both.” My own voice was a rasp, but there was that breathy little plea I couldn’t control with Patrick. My hand trembled as I got out my keys. This was happening. I was inviting him into my home. “Are you coming in?”
17
Reasons Why
Christina
My dark hallway faced us. Patrick rolled back his shoulders. Restlessness surged through his body — an animal, facing a cage.
Startled, I touched his shoulder. “It’s just my apartment. It doesn’t bite.”
His hand swallowed mine and he led me inside, his mantle of confidence back. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I didn’t bother to flick on the hall light. I was comfortable in the dark now, at least at home, and I had a feeling Patrick would prefer it.
“Amelia?” I called as we passed through. No response. “My roommate’s never home,” I confided in Patrick as I opened my door by feel. The twinkle lights winked at us from the window. “Supposedly she has a boyfriend, but I don’t think he exists.”
Taking a cue from my trips to his bedroom, I left the overhead light off, so the room was bathed in a dim glow. Amelia’s cat jumped off my bed and darted between us, giving Patrick a baleful look on her way out.
He paused in the doorway. As he eyed my unmade bed, full-size, pushed against the wall, with rumpled purple sheets, nerves tightened my stomach. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have Patrick in my room. But he’d been here, invading my mind, since November.
“Do you want the window open?” I asked. His gaze cut to me sharply. “You always have yours cracked when I come over.”
He let out a breath. “You’re sick. I don’t want you to freeze.”
“It’s not a big deal. And I’m not sick, just tired.”
“Christina, I expect you to be completely recovered by Monday night and I don’t want anything getting in the way of that.”
Nice to know he cared so deeply about my well-being for its own sake.
Slipping off his sweater, I draped it over my swivel chair and wriggled out of my cheerleading shell, pitching the red and white fabric into the laundry hamper. When I took off my black sports bra, Patrick ignored the curves of my breasts in the faint light, turning instead to study the photos above my bed.
Alexis at the bridal store in a shimmering gown, me next to her in yoga pants and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. My extended family at Christmas in matching red tops. A visit to Mexico seven years ago to see my dad’s grandmother before she died. Sydney and me posing in bikinis, holding margaritas, on spring break.
Dizzy, I grabbed the dresser. “Can you help me finish changing?”
