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“Literally anything, Cash. You don’t need to pick something up. I can—I can make something here.”
There’s a long pause, because I’d been getting comfortable-ish in his kitchen before the poisoning. I’d been cooking. Now, I hardly have the energy to wake up every day. But it is getting better. Tonight, however, even though I’ve napped, I’m feeling the weight of exhaustion in my bones.
“I’m thinking Pho.”
“I like Pho.”
“Settled then.”
“Okay.” I want to ask for wanton soup, but I feel like a burden lately. The man is supporting me financially in every way, but my end of the bargain is deeply lacking. It’s lacking so much; Cash hasn’t been doing anything with the band. In fact, they’d cancelled all their shows last weekend so Cash could be home to watch and care for me.
I’m supposed to be out supporting him, standing by his side, cheering him on as the perfect girlfriend. But here I am, napping my days away in his condo.
“I’ll be home soon.” God, I like the way he says that. My belly warms and I clear my throat.
“Okay.”Why do I feel breathless?
“You feeling okay?”
“Mmhmm.”
There’s a pause. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”
“I’m fine, Cash. Just a little tired sometimes.”
It’s a symptom of the poison. An after effect. We both know it, so neither of us says it.
His command sounds rough over the line, “Find a movie you want to watch. We’re piggin’ out and relaxing tonight, yeah?”
This man makes me smile.
It’s a dangerous thing to let one’s fake boyfriend make her feel the way Cash makes me feel, but I can’t seem to help myself. I can’t seem to pull back or add anymore bricks to the wall I built against him in the beginning. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s been knocking them down for a while now. Brick after brick. Falling, tumbling, crashing down around my heart.
Soon, I’ll be exposed to him. Vulnerable in a way I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable to no man. Ever.
Am I ready for that?
No, I’m not. I’m especially not ready to be vulnerable to a man who means for all that I’m beginning to feel for him to be nothing more than a sham.
I clear my throat again as I slam one of the fallen bricks into place, dusting off my hands with a mental, ‘Atta girl’ as I murmur, “A movie night sounds nice.”
twenty-three
Wrenlee
Cash brought wonton soup home. I nearly cried when I cracked the lid and inhaled the warmth of familiar comfort food deep into my lungs.
We finished dinner a while ago and we’re halfway through the movie I picked as per Cash’s instruction. My belly is full and I’m cozy next to Cash on the couch under the blanket. Even though I had a nap not long ago, I’m tired. It’s probably partly because I’m sleeping so much. I’ve never been one to take naps. Unlike those chirpy after-nap people, I’m sludgy and heavy and plagued by a sour mood if I give in and snooze mid-day.
My phone chirps, distracting me from my task ofkeeping my eyes wide on the screen. Dad’s name flashes, and Cash reaches for my phone on the table, handing it to me.
I open Dad’s text and smile.
“What’s up?” Cash asks.
“Dad wants to know when I’m coming for Christmas.” I shift under my blanket. “He’s going to book my flight.”
I can feel his eyes on me, so when I look at him, I’m not surprised to find that dark gaze fixed unwaveringly on me. “You’re leaving for Christmas?”
