Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(52)

I lowered my hand from where it hovered over his bicep and moistened my dry lips. “What are you doing? You should stay in bed.” On your back. Weak and sick and far less intimidating.

His mouth lifted into a half-grin. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be okay, Mom.”

I blushed. I did tend to be motherly. Emerson and Georgia always said so. Ironic considering I never had that kind of mother. But when you grew up in a community where people, including your own guardian, were often sick, it went with the territory.

I watched as he moved toward the bathroom, the light play of muscles beneath the golden skin of his back mesmerizing me. His strides were much less swift and sure than normal. At the bathroom door, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “You can stay. If you want to.” He glanced back at the table where all my books were spread out. “Study here.”

I nodded, my heart doing a crazy little flip. He turned back around and closed himself in the bathroom. The sound of the shower soon hummed through the door.

My heart still felt foolishly light as I found fresh sheets in a chest near the bed. Stripping off his old sheets and replacing them with his new ones, I was plumping his pillows when he emerged from the shower ten minutes later. He paused, scrubbing a towel over his head. “You changed my sheets?”

I rose to face him and had to fight a smile. He looked almost confused.

“You were sick . . . thought you might like fresh sheets.”

He stared at me solemnly. Like he was trying to figure me out. My smile faded. Because that would never happen. I could never let it happen. God, first I’d have to figure myself out, and that was a constant struggle.

Just when I thought I knew what I wanted in life and who I was, I’d get a call from Gram depressed about Daddy. She’d talk about how everything went to hell when he married my mother. How he should have married Frankie Mazzerelli, his high school sweetheart, who was now married to a pharmacist and had four kids. And if it wasn’t Gram, I’d have one of my nightmares, and it would be like I was ten all over again, hiding in the shadows and praying for an invisibility cloak. That had been my fantasy. Other little girls dream of castles. I dreamed for invisibility.

I didn’t know anything then, and I was still trying to figure myself out. So far I’d changed my major three times, finally settling on psychology. Like becoming a therapist and helping others with their problems might somehow help me work my way through mine.

There was only one irrefutable truth in my life. Only one thing I knew. Hunter was good. Hunter was normal. And I wanted that. Correction: Him. I wanted him. That I knew. That was the plan.

“Thanks,” he said. “For doing this. Being here.”

“Want to try and eat something?” I moved into the kitchen. “I got chicken noodle soup. Jell-O. Crackers.”

“I might be ready for a little Jell-O.”

I removed one of the small cups from the fridge and handed it to him. He opened a drawer and selected a spoon. Leaning against the counter, he studied me. “Did you eat already?”

“I grabbed a late lunch and snacked on some crackers while you slept. I’m fine.”

He peeled the foil lid off the cup. “They could make you something downstairs. It’s wing night.”

“That’s okay.”

He spooned a small bite of strawberry Jell-O into his mouth. The muscles in his jaw feathered as he moved it around, savoring it slowly.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again. Why’d you come?” he asked as he focused on spooning another bite.

I couldn’t see his face to properly judge his thoughts, but I thought he sounded almost relieved that I had proved him wrong. Was he glad I was here?

“After what you said that night, I’m not surprised you thought that.”

He looked up then, his gaze cutting deep. “So why are you here?”

At least he didn’t pretend not to understand my reference. “What did you mean, you put your father in a wheelchair?”

“Just what I said.”

“So you . . . hurt him? Deliberately?”

His lips twisted into a harsh smile. “You want me to make it sound less wrong. You want me to tell you I’m something else. Something that isn’t broken. Is that it, Pepper?” He shook his head and tossed the empty plastic cup into the garbage can. “I’m not going to lie to you and convince you that I’m someone good and shiny like your guy that’s going to be a doctor.”

He pushed off from the counter and moved toward the bed again.

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Yes, you are. I can see it in the way you’re looking at me with those big green eyes.”

My hands knotted into fists at my sides. “I just want to know the truth.”

“What does it matter?” he said over his shoulder as he pulled back the covers on the bed. “We don’t need to be sharing each other’s life stories. We don’t need to know any truths about each other. What we’re doing together doesn’t need to be complicated.”

I blinked as his words washed over me. He was right, of course. I didn’t need to know who he was.

“Would you kill the light?” he asked, sighing as he crawled back into bed.

“You’re going to sleep.”

“I’m still wiped. So. Yeah.” He lifted his head. “Are you staying?”