Page 104 of Butterfly Effect

“Nah. Her mom taught me a recipe over FaceTime before the game.”

My mind sighs with the thought of the closest thing I have to a mother. She’s the freaking best. A queen in her own right. Pharmacist by day, supermom by other day.

“You know Anju Aunty?”

“We’ve only met a few times: at the proposal, their engagement, and the wedding events. But she’s very sweet.”

“Tell that to Indi. She’d never admit how alike they are. Her dad’s amazing, too.”

Mentioning Rahul Uncle sombers the conversation.

“I wouldn’t know,” Wade replies. “Haven’t talked to him much.”

“Ahhhh,” I drag out the sound. “Gotcha. Being weird around dads is your MO. Why is that?”

“Probably better to unpack with a therapist.”

“Probably. Is it because your dad isn’t around?”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t.”

I back off this time. We finish our meals wordlessly.

I ruined it.

The man is unrelenting. He asked people I love how to make me a homemade dinner, fed it to me with his hands, and I ruined it by bringing up his obvious issues around fatherly figures.

Gabe Finch, if you ever want your pussy eaten by him again, you make up for it right now. Yeah, that’s why I’m doing it. Not because I’m sorry for hurting his feelings or anything.

Wade loads the dishwasher as I soap up my hands.

“So,” I start. “Can I stay the night?”

His eyes brighten at the prospect, dispersing their anguish. “Same bed?”

“Sure. No sex.”

“Just sleep?” There’s not a trace of disappointment in his tone. “Do I get to cuddle you?”

“Yes.” It’s a mindless reply, but my insides go molten at the victorious smile he returns.

“Deal.”

Waking up without him spread over me like a weighted blanket feels strangely…hollow. The gentle fingers swirling through my hair, his hot breath skimming over my skin, the pleasured hums as I stroked his back, the soft snore on my chest when he fell asleep. It’s all too addicting to be healthy.

Oh, no.

What is this? Attachment? Feelings?

Psht.No. I don’t likehim. I like…how he feels. How he makes me feel. It’s not the same thing.

Both palms cover my eyes but do nothing to ease the frustration. “Get a hold of yourself, Gabe. What are you doing?”

I thrash my legs against the mattress before swinging them over one side. My temples pulse harder at the two rings notifying me of new messages.

Mel

Adrienne’s sick as hell.

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