Page 8 of Justus
“Goodnight. Love you.”
Justusjust smiles when I hang up and shoot him a dirty look. “What? Moms love me. Itold you, everything will be fine. I don’t know why you’re so worried.”
Ofcourse he doesn’t understand. “This is very important to me. It isn’t a game.”
Hissmile fades, and he lies down, rolling onto his side to face me. “Why is itimportant that your mom thinks you have a boyfriend?”
ChapterTwo
Justus
Sadieis the most stubborn female I’ve ever met. I’m not trying to sound conceited,but women generally jump at the opportunity when I try to get them in bed. Idon’t really have to try. But this woman has spurned my advances for almost ayear. I don’t know why I’m so determined to have her, but I am. It may havesomething to do with the fact she has curves in all the right places, an assI’d love to grab, and tits that would make a priest take a second look. If Ihave to play a little pretend, fine. It’s a chance to spend time with her andshow her what she’s missing.
Herexpression changes from annoyance to sadness when I ask the question that’sbeen bugging me. I get wanting to make your parents happy, but hiring a man topretend to be her boyfriend seems a little over the top. When I heard Sadiediscussing an escort with Ayda, I couldn’t let it happen. Who knows what kindof asshole she could get?
“She’sdying,” she murmurs.
Holyfuck.
“Heartfailure. She’s on the transplant list, but her blood type is rare, and it’sunlikely they’ll get a match in time.” Her voice wavers as she continues. “Sheworries about me. She’s spent her life alone, raising me and my brother, andshe wants to know I have someone. I don’t want her to die worrying about me.”
Hereyes fill and she instantly rolls over, dragging the blanket to her chin,trying to hide. Her pain is palpable, and I don’t even think before scootingclose and wrapping my arm around her. She stiffens, but doesn’t object.
“I’msorry. I know what it’s like to lose the people you love. Have the doctorsgiven you a time frame?”
“Withouta transplant? Six months to a year, but a year is being generous. She’s growingweaker, so I wanted to come for her birthday, take her out while she’s stillable.”
Sheswallows audibly and wipes her eyes. “Hey.” I roll her over and look her in theeye. “I’ve got this. I won’t screw it up. I promise.”
“Thankyou.”
Myarm tightens around her, and she sighs. Silence fills the room and a fewminutes later, the rise and fall of her chest becomes a steady rhythm. She’sasleep, but I’m wide awake.
Ihad no idea what I was getting myself into here, but I’m sure I can pretend tobe a loving boyfriend for a week. Whether Sadie can allow me to is anotherstory. If she tightens up every time I touch her—and I plan to touch her alot—her mother will sense something is wrong. I know I flirt with her, but I’mnot a total asshole. I’m not going to take advantage of a friend who ishurting. And she is a friend.
AllI can do is try to make this week as easy on her as possible.
Spendingthe night with a woman in my arms—a woman I didn’t fuck—is a new experience forme, but it was surprisingly comfortable. Sadie is curled against me when Iwake, her hair draped across my chest. I slip out of bed without disturbingher. Twenty minutes later, I have to laugh. Nothing wakes this girl up.
I’vehad water running, the TV on, and I ran down the hall to grab a few complementarydonuts and cups of coffee. She didn’t budge. “Sadist,” I call, bouncing the beda little. “Time to wake up.”
Shegrumbles and turns over. I’m blasted with a withering glare when I shake hershoulder and announce again, “Time to get up. You wanted to get an earlystart.”
Fine.She’s asking for it. The sound of two quarters plunking into the box attachedto the headboard doesn’t bother her, but the bed jumping to life under her suredoes.
“Whatthe fuck!” she shouts, leaping to her feet as the ancient mechanism grinds andshudders, shaking the bed much harder than it was intended to.
“Goodmorning, Sweets. I brought you some coffee and donuts.”
Thelook on her face as I give her my most sincere grin could strip thewater-stained wallpaper from the walls. Without a word, she grabs her clothesfrom her suitcase and stalks into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes laterfully dressed with her hair pulled into a ponytail. That’s something I reallylike about her. She doesn’t feel the need to cake her face in makeup all thetime. Not that I have anything against makeup, but most of the women who cometo the club seem to put it on with a paintbrush.
Itake the opportunity to stare at her as she packs up her things. A few strandsof pale, blond hair tickle her face, and she shoves them back. Smooth,peach-colored skin reddens when she notices me staring at her.
“What?”she demands.
“Nota morning person are you?”
“Noteven a little bit.” She grabs her coffee and takes a huge drink before tossingme the keys. “You drive.”
