Page 47 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
Unforgivably, I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried helplessly over things I’d stored away for years without real awareness. Epic smoothed soothing circles into my back but said little. He murmured mostly, making sounds that said he identified with me, little noises of approval, or solidarity, or comfort.
Losing Luis had hurt me. His decision to leave had gutted me. I’d walked around like a living corpse for months while I’d thrown myself into work, convinced it was all I’d ever be good at—all I was goodfor.
Yet all this time that anguish had built inside me until inevitably, Luis sent me a wedding invitation. He hadn’t done it to gloat. He was genuinely happy, and I believed he wanted me to share in his joy.
The problem was me. I was such a petty, vindictive man that I couldn’t wish him well.
“Shh,” Epic crooned softly. “Shh. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
I shook my head because it wasn’t okay. It never could be.
Luis was right. My work was the only redeeming thing about me, and just like I had with Luis, I’d lost sight of that with Epic. I might be happy for a while, distracted for a while, but in the end, I’d always go back to the work I had to do.
But Luis had been wrong about one thing. I didn’t do my job because no one else could do it, or for my ego, or for any kind of personal gain. Those were other people’s reasons, not mine.
I worked as hard as I could because anyone who could help fix even the smallest of the world’s problems had no business walking away from them.
Even if their hearts shattered under that workload.
Chapter Twelve
Itook a shower while Epic sorted out breakfast. Steam filled the glassed-in space, but I couldn’t get warm. I didn’t have the strength or desire to get myself off, even after spending the night next to Epic who was…just luscious.
I don’t know how long I stood there with hot water pounding my back, but eventually the door opened, and Epic turned the water off.
“C’mere, you,” he muttered as he rubbed my hair with a towel and buffed me dry everywhere else. “You’re all red. How hot did you have that water?”
I blinked at him trying to gage that.How would I know?
This—being tsk’d over and fussed at—was so new I barely comprehended it.
“Breakfast is on the patio. Come on. Get dressed.” He caught my hand and towed me to the bedroom where he’d laid out a pair of jeans and…a band T-shirt?
“What’s that?”
“That is a little thing we like to call casual wear. You didn’t have anything but plain white T-shirts, so I’m loaning you one of mine.
“Panic at the Disco?”
“It’s a band.”
“I know what it is. I’m just afraid by wearing it I’ll lose my adult card.”
His smile lit the room. “What do you need that for?”
He had a point.
Todayhe had a point, I amended.
I dressed and followed him outside. In-room dining had delivered an array of healthy options—yogurt, fresh fruit, oatmeal, and green tea. It all tasted the same to me, but I ate what he put in front of me.
Not satisfied with that, he picked out the choicest berries from his stash and practically saidhere comes the train.
“C’mon. Eat. It’s good for you.” He picked the berries up with his fork, one by one, and I ate.
“Thank you.”
“You’re scaring me a little this morning,” he said seriously.
