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About everything that happened.
* * *
After the procedure,Arch takes me to the café I mentioned to him earlier, and I order a vanilla latte and a cinnamon roll while he gets a white chocolate mocha and a breakfast sandwich. He insists on paying and I let him because I didn’t even bring my wallet with me. Plus, I think it makes him feel good, that he’s taking care of me.
My face is still numb from that terrible shot—the doctor was right, it was horrible and painful—and I feel like I’m eating weird. Drinking weird. Arch even grabs me a straw to use to sip my hot coffee from the to-go cup, and while I feel dumb, it does help.
I feel dumb about a lot of things, including the argument with my father. The way I acted last night. It’s like I’m having an emotional come down and I’m regretting everything I did yesterday, with the exception of one thing.
I don’t regret having sex with Arch.
We make small talk and it’s almost as painful as the shot the nurse gave me. Until finally, Arch balls up the wrapper his sandwich was in—he consumed it in less than five minutes I swear—and tosses it on the table so it bounces against my cup.
“Are you going to tell me what happened last night when you went home?”
Taking a deep breath, I tell him everything. How my dad scared me. How mad he got when he found out that I was with Arch. I don’t mention Dad figuring out we had sex because that’s just embarrassing, but I tell him how angry I became when I saw he cut the roses. How upset I was at the idea of him giving the flowers to Kathy.
“My mom’s favorite color too,” I add, my voice small.
Arch reaches out and rests his hand on my forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Daze.”
“I am too.” I drop my gaze to where his hand rests on my arm, noticing how big it is, how long his fingers are. How his touch gives me so much comfort—and pleasure too. And how that feels like a very grown-up thought to have.
“Have you talked to him?”
“He was already out of the house by the time I woke up,” I admit.
“You should probably have a conversation with him.”
“I don’t know what to say. I want to apologize, but I think he should too, you know? I can’t believe how mean he was. He said terrible things about me and you and—us.” I whisper the last word, feeling silly.
“I don’t know what I did to him to make him hate me.” Arch removes his hand from my arm and leans back in his chair, kicking his legs out. His frustration is clear and I wish I could reassure him. “Be real with me, Daze. Am I that bad?”
No. He’s perfect—perfect for me. But how can I tell him that? How can I say the words out loud when we haven’t discussed what exactly our relationship is? He hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend. Is that how it works? Do we need to make it official? We spend all of our time together and I could assume that’s what we are, but I never want to assume.
I never want to be made a fool.
“You’re not that bad. You’re not bad at all,” I murmur, thinking of all the wonderful, thoughtful things he’s done for me lately. “You’re a good boyfriend.”
The word falls from my lips without thought, hanging between us, and Arch’s gaze flicks up to mine.
“I didn’t mean that,” I say when he remains silent. “I mean—you’ve been a great friend.”
Okay that sounds lame.
One side of his mouth kicks up in a closed-lip smile. “You really calling us friends right now?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, tearing my gaze away from his. I am squirming in my chair, and I think he’s enjoying it. “What do you call what we’re doing?”
“Well, I know one thing.” He scoots close to me, crowding me until he’s all I can see and smell and hear. “We know each other pretty damn well, wouldn’t you agree?”
I duck my head, nodding. I breathe in his clean, masculine scent, my body leaning into his. “Very well.”
“We haven’t made anything official.” He’s touching my hair. The side of my face, careful not to brush his fingers against my wound. “But I think we should.”
His fingers curve around my neck, tilting my head up so our gazes meet. He looks so serious, and I’m suddenly scared. “Wanna be my girlfriend, Daze?”
I nod.
