Yours Truly (Part of Your World, #2)(50)

It was hard to feel anxious when the situation is so informal. And I was starting to realize it was hard to feel anxious around her in general. Most of the time when I did, it was in the lead-up to seeing her, not the actual spending time with her, and it was my own overthinking that got me there.

Speaking of overthinking…

There was something I kept going back to from the other night at my parents’ house. She’d said she really looked forward to our letters. I wondered if she just made that up for the story. Because I had looked forward to those letters. A lot.

I think it mattered to me so much because those were before the news about my kidney. How she felt about the letters wasn’t because of what I was doing for Benny, it was just between us. Unadulterated by gratitude.

There wouldn’t be anything that was untouched by that now. Now I wouldn’t know if anything she was saying or doing was because we were pretending or she was just feeling indebted to me.

I wished I could navigate it better and know what was what.

Had she really liked the letters? If she wasn’t trying to make our relationship look authentic, would I even be here tonight? Would we have talked on the phone like last night? How much bonus time was I getting from her because of our fake dating, because she felt obligated?

I hated that I didn’t know.

“Hey,” she said, pushing the door open to let in me and Lieutenant Dan. I stepped into the entry and she crouched to pet my dog and he bounced on his lone front leg and made puppy noises. He liked her.

I looked around while she was ruffling his head. She hadn’t been kidding about the house. It was…old.

I liked old. My cabin was old. But this wasn’t the nostalgic kind of old that had aged well. This was the kind that was dated and in need of serious renovating. The carpet was brown shag, the ceiling was popcorn. There was a glass coffee table with shiny brass legs. A huge cat tree was in the corner next to a window covered in cheap, bent blinds. The pink floral sofa in the living room had thick plastic on it and a huge glittery framed painting of the Virgin Mary hanging over it.

Briana put her hands on her hips and surveyed the house with me. “Well, here it is.”

“It’s…”

“Don’t lie to me. Actually—yes. Lie to me.”

I laughed a little.

She nodded to the sofa. “Let’s eat. I’ll give you the grand tour later.”

I took off my shoes and she made her way to the sofa. Her pajama bottoms were inside out.

“Your pants are on inside out,” I said, following her.

“I know. The outside was fuzzier. Follow me for more fashion tips.”

I smiled.

I’d settled on wearing my workout clothes—a gray T-shirt and some black Nike training pants.

It took me a day of planning just to decide on it.

She dropped onto the sofa and patted the spot next to her. I sat down and the plastic squeaked under me. I started unbagging the food onto the coffee table and she turned on the TV while Lieutenant Dan nosed around. He started sniffing under the dust ruffle of the sofa and wagging his tail. The cat was probably there.

I eased myself down onto the floor and put my back against the seat cushion.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to meet your cat.”

“Is he under there?”

“I think so.”

I handed her a burger. She grabbed a blanket and pulled it over her lap. Then she crossed her leg under her, and her knee pressed into my shoulder.

I pretended like I didn’t notice it, but I did. I really did.

There was going to be touching now. Obligatory touching, but touching nonetheless. We’d have to in front of my family.

I felt the same way about this that I felt about the rest of it. I liked it, but hated that I didn’t know if she did.

She turned up the volume on the TV. Two actors walked through a parking lot as a building blew up behind them. “That stuff kills me,” she said, setting down the remote and opening her to-go container.

“Total bullshit,” I said.

“They wouldn’t be walking away like that. Blown eardrums at the very least,” she said.

“The shift in pressure would rupture a lung. Soft tissue damage.”

She ate a fry and smiled at me like she liked that I knew this and we could complain about it. I liked it too.

“So I was Googling get-to-know-you games,” she said. “And I think we should play Would You Rather.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“The last game Amy wanted to play was Penis,” I mumbled, tearing the corner of a ketchup packet with my teeth.

“The game where you take turns shouting penis in a public place louder and louder until one of you gives up out of embarrassment? That’s like your number-one idea of hell.”

I nodded. “Yes. Yes, it is. I’m not very fun, unfortunately.”

She scoffed. “You’re fun. That game fucking sucks. What other torture did she subject you to? Did she like to text you ‘We need to talk’ too?”

I paused. “She did, actually.”

Briana rolled her eyes.

“She threw me a surprise birthday party last year,” I said. “She didn’t understand why I was so mortified, since it was just my family and Zander there and she got my favorite cake.” I shook my head. “I don’t like parties. I especially don’t like parties for me, and I definitely don’t like them when I don’t have a chance to mentally prepare for them. It was like my nightmare trifecta.”