Page 34 of Things I Wish I Said
Rounding the hospital bed, I sink down onto the edge and pop another ginger drop into my mouth as panic grips me like a vise. “Grayson, you can’t be here.”
He scoffs. “Why?”
“Because my mother will be back any minute,” I hiss.
He grabs one of my mother’s discarded magazines off the tray table, glances at it, then tosses it back down. “So? Isn’t that the point?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, uncertainly. “But after we’ve gotten to know each other, gotten more comfortable. We don’t even have our stories straight. If she walks in now, we’re screwed.”
Mom can sniff out a lie a mile away. She’s like a fucking bloodhound.
“I’m not uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?”
My heart skips a beat as his blue-gray eyes meet mine, churning with the intensity of a storm cloud. “Look, I won’t stay long,but if we really are dating, don’t you think I might come to something like this? If I were really your boyfriend?”
“Well . . . I don’t know.” I bite my lip, second-guessing myself. Maybe he has a point. Not that I would know. A couple of dates does not make me an expert.
“Well, I would, Ry.”
“And how would you know? I thought you didn’t do love or the boyfriend thing. Isn’t that what you said?”
The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Maybe not now, but there was a time when I did.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to take his measure when his gaze shifts to the table beside my bed and the romance novel that occupies it.
Before I can stop him, he reaches out and picks it up. “What’s this?”
“Nothing,” I say, making a move to swipe it back, but I’m too weak, and he easily dodges me, blocking my pathetic attempts.
“Romance, huh?” He flips through the pages with a snort.
“What’s wrong with romance?” I ask, the pitch of my tone rising in defense.
“Nothing. . . if you believe in fairytales.”
I decide to ignore his comment because, quite frankly, I don’t know what I believe in anymore.
“Have you finished it yet?” he asks.
My gaze finds his, and I swallow. “I’m done with it.”
It’s not a lie, at least not outright, but the truth is I can’t bring myself to read the ending. Every time I try, I shut down and close the book.
“Can I borrow it?”
“Borrow it?” I parrot, certain I’ve misheard him.
“Yeah. You know, to read.”
“But. . . why?”
His mouth ticks upward. “Maybe I want to see what you’re into.”
I don’t know if he means sexually, but the chill those words give me is nothing short of certifiable. Here I am, in a hospital bed, after having just puked up my guts, and the thought this boy might be into me in any sort of way is mind-blowing.
My cheeks heat, but luckily, I don’t have to dwell on it for too long because the sound of footsteps draws my attention before I can respond.
My gaze darts to the door, heart jumping in my chest when Grayson slips his hand in mine. An electric current hums under my skin where our hands meet.
