Page 42 of Sincerely, Your Enemy

I grab a dry pair of jeans and shove the box back into the closet. My eyes are burning with unshed tears, but I fight them off to the best of my ability.

“Put this on.” I hand the clothes to TJ. “I’ll be back with a towel for your hair.”

I turn to leave, but TJ’s hand flies out to catch my wrist. Dark, worry-ridden eyes plunge into mine when I spin to face him. “You okay?”

He noticed my bloodshot eyes.Great.

I glower at him. “Daily cat facts, remember?”

“I like cats,” he deadpans. “Answer the question.”

I can’t hold his gaze a second longer. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t let go of my wrist.

“Promise,” I add.

That seems to be enough to get him to let me go.

I grab a clean towel from the bathroom and return to TJ, who’s busy pouring the milk into a small saucepan he probably found snooping around.

“Here.” I give him the towel, and he takes it, patting his hair lightly. It doesn’t make much of a difference.

I steal the towel from his hands. “Let me do it.”

He doesn’t argue, staying still as I move closer and squeeze his brown hair dry. I dab at it a few times, only withdrawing when I’m satisfied.

His hair is now an unkempt, sexy mess, and I laugh when a few strands fall before his eyes. He pushes the hair blinding him out of his face and looks down at me, our eyes drawn together like magnets.

I didn’t realize we were this close until now.

“Thanks.” His voice is close to a whisper.

There’s a shift in the air, but I refuse to acknowledge it, backing away. “You should change.”

“Yeah” is all he says.

I watch as he ambles to the bathroom and closes the door.

“You didn’t even drinkthe whole thing,” TJ points out when I empty the mug of warm milk into the sink.

Truth is, he over-honeyed.

Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“I’ve been craving chicken noodle soup all week. Let me live,” I say, stalking toward the soup container sitting on the counter.

TJ pushes off his seat. “Sit down, I’ll get you a bowl.”

The authority in his voice makes me laugh, and I plop back down onto my chair. He’s just opened the cupboard when I realize a bowl isn’t what I want.

“Actually… would you mind getting me another mug? I don’t eat soup in a bowl.”

He seems surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s just a thing my father did. He liked to drink his soup. I grew up doing it.”

TJ nods, grabbing a mug at random and closing the cupboard door. Just like that, it feels like my heart is going to cave in on itself.

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