Page 65 of The Pretender

The girlfriend term stops Vee in her tracks, but she recovers quickly and hurries to sit.

I slide into the leather chair and prop my arm up on the armrest, while the tech busies herself with prepping my arm and asking me to make a fist while she finds the vein. I glance over at Vee, who is seriously pale. I knew her weak ass stomach couldn't handle the sight of blood. She might be able to shoot whiskey and moonshine like a dude, but a little bit of blood will send her eyes rolling into the back of her head. I groan and put my hand on the tech. “Hang on just a minute.”

I then look at Vee. “Come here. I’m not dealing with having to carry you to the car and stopping by a diseased taco truck to get your strength back after you faint.”

Sliding to the side of the recliner, I pat the few inches of space next to me. The tech cuts me a disapproving look that I ignore. Vee will either squeeze her little ass in or she’ll faint on the floor. I’m guessing the tech would rather see two grown ass people squeeze into a recliner than to deal with the paperwork of writing up an incident report.

Vee eyes the needle in the tech’s hand and then the spot beside me.

I already know what her decision will be, but she needs time to prepare herself. I get it.

With a groan, Vee leaves the bags in her recliner and puts a knee on my seat cushion then hesitates.

“She’s about to stick me so make a decision,” I add.

“Promise you won’t tease me about this?” She’s so serious that I can’t help but laugh.

“No. Definitely not.”

“Then I’ll just faint and you can stop at the next taco truck.”

For fuck’s sake. “Fine. I promise. This one doesn’t count.”

At my assurance, she slides in on her side, so she can fit, putting her arm over my chest and burying her face in my shoulder.

“Okay. Tell her to stick you now.”

I chuckle and nod to the tech who looks like this is the craziest shit she’s ever seen during a blood donation. But she does it, and before long, I’m bleeding into a bag with my neighbor’s face shoved into my shoulder hard enough that it’ll probably bruise.

“Sebastian,” she says, her voice muffled.

My eyes are closed, opting not to watch TV while I donate. “Yeah?”

“Are you ever going to tell me why you do this?”

I turn my head and admire her dark hair while her fingers grip my t-shirt like she’s scared someone is going to force her to pull her head up and see all the blood. I trail my fingers down her back, watching as she visibly relaxes her grip.

“Maybe one day,” I whisper.

It’s not a no, but it isn’t a yes.

“Does it have to do with your sister’s illness when you were little?”

My fingers stop. “How do you know about that?”

She tries to pull her head up to face me but then thinks better of it. “When we were friends you told me that your sister had been sick when you were little.”

I try relaxing when the tech comes by to check on the progress. “I forgot I told you.”

She tightens her grip when she hears the tech placing a bottled water on the table. “You used to not mind sharing,” she manages to get out.

“You used to make it easy to talk to you,” I admit.

She pulls her face up and levels me with so much sincerity in those big brown eyes. “I don’t now?”

I touch her hair and let my fingers trail along to the bow of her lips. “No. Now, it’s definitely harder.”

She watches me for a second, both of us locked in a heated stare laced with months of lies and friendship, before she notices the blood and slams her face back down onto my shoulder. “I’m still the same person, you know?”

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