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“Don’t act like you care.”
She might as well have slapped me. I should go. Get out of here. Delete her number and block it for good measure.
Because it had only taken a few weeks of her back in my life to prove just how much I’d been lying to myself that Ididn’tcare.
I’d never stopped.
And that wasn’t good for either of us. Especially me.
I never should’ve gotten tangled up in her sheets.
“Get on the bed.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not so sure I’m in the mood anymore.”
“I won’t ask again.”
She hesitated only a second before leaving the ice bag dangling in my grasp and crawling onto the mattress.
I flipped off lights until the only thing left glowing was the lamp on the nightstand. She was so pretty sitting in the center of the bed. No, pretty wasn’t right. She—Don’t think about it.
I focused on her hand. Even from here, I could see the purple had darkened.
I kicked off my shoes and settled in beside her. I clasped her hand, set the ice on top, and switched off the lamp.
“What are you doing, Cal?”
I hated she called me Cal. She’d never done it before, but I got the message loud and clear. I was just like everybody else to her now.
“If you won’t look after yourself, I will.” I nestled into the pillows. They were better than mine. I’d probably have to take out a loan to pay for this hotel room. Because I sure as hell wasn’t letting her do it.
She shifted, though it was too dark to see her face. “Oh no, no, no. This has an expiration date. It’s straight-up sex. And we aren’t taking it any further.”
“Making sure you keep ice on your hand isn’t a marriage proposal.”
She made a slight choking noise. I switched on the light. Her cheeks were red, and I was tempted to get out of bed because she looked ready to murder me.
“Just go, Cal,” she said again. There she went, calling me Cal again.
“The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner I’ll be out of here.” Gently, I pushed her shoulder, making sure to keep the ice balanced on her hand.
She flopped back and stared at the ceiling. “Fabulous. I’ll die of frostbite next to a man I hate.”
“That’s better than dying alone.”
The silence was almost too much to take. Neither the air conditioning nor a neighbor made a sound. There was always street noise or someone listening to music or arguing in my building. This place was quieter than a tomb.
And why had death suddenly become the theme?
“I can’t sleep on my back,” she huffed.
I knew that.
But it was buried so deep in the recesses of my mind, I’d forgotten.
I got out of bed. “Scoot this way.”
The covers rustled as she did what I said. There were small miracles.
