Page 79 of Dating After the End of the World
“Good,” my dad cuts in. “So I’m sure you noticed from the little tour I gave you that space is tight. Right now, Blake and Casey are sharing a room. But I was thinking”—Dad splats a hand on Blake’s shoulder—“that you’d probably want to move to another room now that Nate’s here. The dummy houseisheated, so we can make arrangements there.”
Blake’s eyes tighten. “I’m perfectly fine staying in Casey’s room.”
Dad lowers his voice, talking through the side of his mouth. “I was suggesting it so they could have some privacy.”
“That’s very kind of you, Dale,” Nate says. “And that would be lovely.”
Blake clenches his jaw.
“No, Blake should stay,” I interrupt, quickly glancing at him. I notice the corner of his lips perk up, his eyes brighten a shade, and he relaxes the muscles in his face.
Nate’s brows shove together, and I know he’s about to argue with me, so I continue before he can get a word in.
“Blake’s still recovering from a bite, so he should be comfortable and around other people, in case there’s ... any complications. You never know, especially with a virus this novel, how differently people can react to it, even when it seems to have run its course,” I say, pulling the words completely out of my ass. I don’t want to hurt Blake, but I also don’t want to hurt Nate. However, I know someone’s eventually going to get hurt. In the meantime, I just need to smooth things over, until I can figure out what to do with the two of them.
Despite the look of suspicion on Nate’s face (because he is a doctor, after all) and his eyes darting between Blake and me, he simply nods, most likely not having the energy to argue and not wanting to ruffle any feathers. Blake softly smiles, though it fades just as fast as it appeared, like lightning flashing across the sky.
“All right then,” my dad says, clasping his hands together. “We’ll table this until Blake is feeling one hundred percent.”
Blake doesn’t move or give my dad any sort of reaction. He just stands there staring at me, but I can’t fully meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the guilt I feel from learning that Nate didn’t ditch me at all. Or maybe it’s because I don’t trust myself to only look at him.
Dad pats Nate on the shoulder. “It looks like you could use a hot shower and a warm meal, son.”
“That’s exactly what I could use.” Nate grins.
Blake’s Adam’s apple slowly rocks up and down the length of his neck, like he’s being forced to consume something he doesn’t want to. I get it. Life is sometimes hard to swallow.
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I let out a heavy sigh before turning to face Nate in more ways than one. Immediately, his lips are pressed hard against mine, hungry for another kiss. He wastes no time, his hands finding their way to my breasts, squeezing them, then sliding down my lower back and grabbing my ass. His fingers slip between my skin and the waistband of my pants. Even though I’m kissing Nate, all I can think about is Blake. I pull away, breathless, looking everywhere but at him.
“What? What’s wrong?” he asks, confusion taking over his face.
My mouth parts slightly to answer him, but no words come out, because I don’t know which ones I should tell him. If I had known Nate never intended to ditch me, that he only ran to lure the burners away so I could escape, then Blake and I would have never happened.But I didn’t, and I didn’t realize he was out there risking his life trying to get here to me. Knowing that changes everything. I mean, it has to. We were engaged. We had planned to spend forever together. We were working so hard to build a life that we would one day be able to live in. Honestly, it’s a miracle Nate made it to me, and it feels weird to throw that away. But for some reason, I can’t go right back to the way things were with Nate. I need time to get over Blake before I can be with my fiancé again ... I just can’t tell Nate that’s the reason I’m pushing him away.
I inhale through my nose, nearly gagging on the smell of decay and rot Nate’s secreting. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice the odor before. The hair on his head, along with the new hair on his face, is caked in dried blood and grime. His skin is covered in the same, giving it a muddy color peppered with fresh scrapes and scabs that have crusted over.
“Casey,” he says, impatient for my response.
I scrunch up my nose and cover it with my hand. “It’s just ... you smell really bad.”
He glances down at his clothes, covered in ten days of filth. Tugging on the collar of his T-shirt, he sniffs it and retches.
“Sorry,” he says. “Is there really a shower here?”
“There really is.” I smile.
“Oh, thank God.” Nate sighs with relief.
I pick up the stack of folded clothes from my bed and extend it toward him. “Here. They’re my dad’s. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” I hold the door open for him and gesture to the left. “Towels and washcloths are beneath the sink.”
Nate nods and leaves the room, pausing once to glance over his shoulder. He waggles his brows. “Want to join me?”
“Oh, I would, but we’re not supposed to waste water,” I say awkwardly.
“Right.” He tilts his head. “Maybe when I get back then.” He winks and continues on, looking back at me once more when he turns to shut the bathroom door.
With him out of sight, I let the tension in my face melt away, allowing my smile to fade. I close my bedroom door behind me and sigh with relief because I’m finally alone, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll be able to think this through. My eyes land on Blake’s perfectly made bed, and I can’t help but imagine him and me in it, so I avert my gaze to my own bed. But it’s not mine anymore; it’s mine and Nate’s, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I know how I should feel, but knowing those feelings and having those feelings are two very different things.
I close my eyes, wishing I could just forget about this morning, wipe it completely from my brain. I was with Nate for two years. We lived together. We were engaged, and Blake wasn’t even a factor. Once in a while, Blake would cross my mind, but the only thought I’d have about him wasI hope he’s suffering.Or I’d use the image of him as motivation to get through something really tough—like passing the MCAT, interviewing for residency, dealing with a difficult patient. My spite for Blake was highly motivating.
