Page 176 of Withered

I stare at the paused movie screen. “Too much cholesterol is a free pass to cardiovascular disease.” I look over at him. “I gave it a shot. I did. But I just remove all the stuff, or toppings in your language, and settle for the crust.”

He gives me aWhat the hell is wrong with you?look and bursts out laughing. “What about a simple cheese one?”

“That will do.” I’ll take it. He orders two pizzas: a plain cheese pizza for me and a BBQ chicken pizza for himself.

The doorbell rings fifteen minutes into the movie, forcing me to pause it yet again.

“We are not pausing this again, okay?” I say this as he hands me my pizza.

He smiles. “Okay.”

We watch the movie silently, munching on our pizzas. I am done after two slices. I leave it there; Jake will finish it for me. I’m also too stuck on the screen to notice anything.

I sob during Hazel’s speech and bawl my eyes out when Augustus leaves an eulogy for Hazel. I should’ve listened to Jake and put on a different movie. Every time, both the speech and the letter make me cry.

When the closing credits begin, I wipe my cheeks and find a coffee cup in front of me. I move my gaze from the cup to the hand, then up to Jake.

“It looked like you needed it.” Jake sits down again, this time embracing me in his arms.

“Thanks,” I say, smiling at the sweet gesture. I honestly didn’t notice when he got up and made it, but I’m glad he did.

“Did you like the movie?” I ask, resting my head on his chest and soaking in his warmth.

“Hated it. Anything that makes you cry, I hate it.” He holds me close and fiddles with my hair. I hide my flushed cheeks behind the mug.

His phone rings, and he leans forward to get it from the table and answer it. “Hello.”

I raise my eyebrows at him and he whispers, "Mum." It’s Esme’s call.

“I don’t want to.” He rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says as he hangs up the phone.

I place the mug on the table. “What was it about?”

“Mum wants me to paint the fence,” he grumbles as he stands up. “I’ve been putting it off for a long time.”

I burst out laughing. Jake and painting don’t seem to go together. I attempt to stop myself, but the longer I stare at him, the stranger the image in my mind becomes.

“What’s so funny?” He grits his teeth.

My laughs subside into giggles. “If you’re avoiding it, there’s only one explanation. You can’t do it.”

“Are you challenging me?” He raises an eyebrow.

I nod. “Hmm. I guess I am.”

“What will I get?” He asks.

“Your mom’s praise.” I chuckle, and he sticks out his tongue at me. I lean in closer, past his face, and pause at his ear. “We’ll see,” I answer, attempting to be serious. I bite his ear just to tease him.

I don’t know if I mistook it, but I felt a shudder run through him. When I move back, his eyes have gone black and hooded. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

I gesture for him to go fetch the paint and stuff while I wrap up the things here. I grab the pizza boxes; he must have eaten mine too. There’s no way I could ever eat a whole pizza. I throw the boxes in the trash, wash the mug, and keep it on the counter.

Outside, Jake has like two gallons of paint and a couple of brushes. “Go on. Start. I’ll watch it.”

I sit a few distances away, andman, oh man. He proves me wrong. He definitely can paint, but more importantly, how can a person look so sexy while doing something as simple as painting? Is there anything he can’t do?

His toned skin is shining with a thin layer of sweat, and his tattoos appear to be a gorgeous design etched directly on his skin. I tie my hair in a bun, get up, and walk up to him. I lean down, pick up a brush, and start painting with him.

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