Page 21 of The Holiday Boyfriend

“Oh, he's not? Isn't that why you two moved in together?” Ma finally looked up from her newspaper and furrowed her brows at me.

I sighed at having to repeat the same conversation for the nth time. For someone who was so obsessed with local gossip, she had a way of only seeing reality through filtered lenses that suited her.

“No, we're just…best friends,” I said and looked back down at my plate as I nibbled a muffin. It was easier to eat when that fact made me feel so empty inside.

Gemma nudged me in my stomach. “Ow!” I groaned and glared at her. She looked almost guilty, which was a first for her.

“You know, maybe he's really sorry for whatever he's done and wants you to go home,” she said, but her gaze refused to meet mine.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What did you do?”

“What? Me? I didn't do anything!” she said in a huff.

“Gemma,” I said in a warning tone. I let her get away with a lot since she was eleven years younger than me, but that didn't mean I would let her get away with everything. I wouldn't be a good older sibling if I didn't have dirt on her, and she knew I wasn't above spilling it to Ma.

“Ugh, fine. He texted me, okay? That's all.” She said, reaching over to my plate and stealing the last pancake.

“What did he say? Why did he text you?” I asked in quick succession.

She shrugged and once again drenched the pancake in liquid sugar. “Just asked questions about you, how you were and if you were sad. Said he didn't know what happened and that he's sorry.”

I didn't know if I should be happy or pissed that Jim was keeping tabs on me.

Seeing that I didn't reply, Gemma let out a frustrated sigh and pointed her fork at me. “Look, I don't know what's up between you two, but you should talk to him. He deserves at least that.”

What did it say for me that I was taking advice from someone eleven years my junior? Looked like she wasn't the only one who still acted like a child.

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Running away from my problems wasn't going to solve anything, and it wasn't fair to him or me.

It was time to go home.

* * *

The first thing I heard when I opened the door to the apartment was the loud sounds of gunshots blaring from the TV. Next was the sound of scrambling as Jim shot up from the couch to stand in front of me.

“You're back,” he said with a hand paused in mid-air like he didn't know if he should touch me or not.

I moved my gaze from his lonely hands to get a good look at him. It was clear that Jim hadn't shaved in a few days with his bushy beard longer than I'd seen it in years. He had dark circles that were clearly visible despite his tan complexion.

“Shit, are you okay?” I stepped up and closed the last distance between us and pressed my hand against his forehead to make sure that he didn't have a fever or something. His skin was warm, but nothing to worry about.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I-I just can't believe you're back,” he said and pulled me to sit on the couch with him.

Gunshots still rang from the TV as one of Jim's favorite game anchors made commentary on the match. Jim didn't play games, but he loved replays of shooting game matches. It was so out of character for him, but I loved how excited he got as the fight progressed. He'd jump up from the couch and cheer at the TV, and I'd watch him from my seat next to him, fascinated because of how happy Jim was.

Jim turned off the TV, and I wondered if we'd ever get back to that point of enjoying his favorite matches together.

“Listen, I've been doing a lot of thinking while you were gone, and I know I've reflected. I'm sorry for the way I acted,” he said while looking at me with puppy dog eyes.

“No, I should be the one who's sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “It's not your fault that I couldn't keep myself in check.”

“You shouldn't have to. I shouldn't have put you in that position in the first place.” Jim hung his head, looking like he was guilty for all the world's crimes.

Something about this conversation didn't feel right. I could understand if he was regretting that night's actions, but why was he sorry and taking the blame like everything was his fault?

Jim looked up again and took my hand. “I promise I won't be so clingy in the future, so don't move out, okay?”

“Wait—what?”

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