Page 18 of Things I Wish I Said
“Don’t placate me, De Leon.”
I grin. “Are we on a last-name basis now?”
She shrugs. “I have to call you something, and it feels a little too soon for ‘boyfriend.’”
A low chuckle rumbles through my chest, surprising me. I don’t laugh a lot these days, so it’s really strange that this girl I barely know is bringing it out of me.
“That’s fair.” I drum my fingers on my thigh, thrown by her candor. “Maybe I’m just a gym rat.”
She purses her lips, as if considering this alternative. “Nope. You’re definitely giving jock vibes. So . . . sport. Which one?”
I grin, enjoying this exchange far more than I should. “Baseball. Easily the best and most challenging sport there is.”
She huffs. “Debatable.”
I stare at her for a moment, noting the brilliant pattern in her hazel eyes that reminds me a lot of the childhood cat I used to have, Tigger. I’ve never seen someone with eyes quite like it.
My dad loved that damn cat.
I clear my throat. “So, about this boyfriend thing . . .”
“Listen, I don’t know what they told you, but I don’t want a boyfriend.”
My brow furrows. “You don’t want a boyfriend?”
“No. I mean, I do, but I don’t.” She growls and shakes her head in frustration. “Let’s put it this way. Cancer might be slowly killing me, but I’m still not pathetic enough to ask for a fake boyfriend, despite how my letter made it sound.”
I frown. “I’m not following. So, you’re not looking for love. Got it. What is it you want, then?” I ask, equal parts relieved and confused.
“I need my mother tothinkI have a boyfriend. And, okay, technically, I need a date for an event. I can’t go alone, and even if my mother were able to go with me, she’ll hover. And the last thing I want is her hovering and worrying about germs and infections and how tired I am or if I’ve taken my fucking supplements. In short, I’d give my left fucking lung to attend this thing.” She barks out a laugh. “Sorry, a little cancer humor.”
I arch a brow.
“They took my left lung,” she explains. “Lung cancer,” she adds at my blank stare. “Too much?” She scrunches her nose, then waves her hand out in front of herself while I wonderhow she can be so flippant about something so fucking awful. “Anyway, my mother can’t get the time off work to go, and I don’t have anyone else to make the trip with. I know technically I’m eighteen and I can do what I want, but she’s done a lot for me. Sacrificed a lot. And if I go, I want it to be with her approval. But if I have someone she trusts, someone I could rely on to go with me, who cares about me, then she might be okay with me going.”
“Okay, and how are you funding this trip?”
“I’ll worry about that later, but I have ideas . . .”
Wishing Well would probably fund the trip if asked, but I don’t say that because I don’t want to reopen the conversation about why they granted her wish in the first place. This chick is too smart and far too observant. The last thing I want to do is explain how my mom has it in her fucking head that this harebrained scheme will somehow save me.
“And you really think she’ll let you go with a boyfriend?”
“A sweet-as-sugar, completely devoted boyfriend who is every bit as protective as she is? Yes.”
Fucking hell.
“I mean, it’s one thing to turn me down if I have no one to go with, but it’s quite another to deny me after all I’ve been through if I have someone else to take me. So we need to be convincing. It’s the only way she’ll let me fly across the country without her in my condition. Which means the whole acting in love part is, unfortunately, still a part of this deal. But no worries.This sick girl”—she points to herself—“won’t fall in love with you. No stage-four clingers here, only stage-two.”
She winks after the second cancer joke, and I have to admit, her bold honesty and self-deprecation would be endearing as fuck if her situation were any different, but as it stands, I’m not sure how to take her.
“Listen,” I say, leaning forward and steepling my hands out in front of me as I meet her gaze, “there’s a problem with your plan.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not sure I’m capable of . . . acting the part.” I lift my hand to straighten the bill of the baseball cap I’m not wearing, then drop my hands in my lap.
She stares at me, her gaze unsettling. “Why?”
