Page 145 of Blindside Sinner

Maybe it’s just that I slept in his bed long enough that it’s hard to get used to sleeping alone again. It’s going to take a while, but that’s okay. I just have to survive until then.

“You should see a doctor.”

“I’m fine, Beck.”

But he’s already pulling out his phone. “I’ll have Dr. Ramsay come to the house. He can probably make it?—”

I lunge forward and put my hand over his phone screen. It’s not lost on me that this is the closest we’ve been in weeks, that I’m smelling the full force of his musk and cologne and it’s making me woozy, and that the edge of his thumb is just barely grazing my pinky.

I focus on his eyes. “I said I’m fine, Beck. And even if I wasn’t, I can handle it myself. If I need to see a doctor, I will. It’s really none of your business.”

I know he’s not being an asshole, and I’m honestly not trying to be a bitch, even if maybe my words make it sound that way. It’s just that I can’t take his concern right now. It makes me weak.

Weak enough to want to fall into him and let him take care of me.

Weak enough to want him so much I don’t have the willpower to resist.

“Youaremy business, Sloan.”

My senses are full of him. He’s standing close and heat rolls off his body. I’m here for it.Toohere for it.

“I’m really not. We’re not together. And you’re not obligated to me. So let’s just get through what we have to get through, okay?”

“Until what, Sloan?” He stares at me, his face a hard mask. “What’s your endgame here? Is this how it’s going to be as long as you live with me?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “We don’t have to be friends or… anything else for me to do my job. We weren’t in the beginning and we don’t need to be now.”

My stomach is tied up in knots again. I turn and walk out because the last thing I want to do is throw up on Beckett Daniels.

As I mount the stairs, though, I hear him following me. “Do you really think that’s the way it’s going to be?”

I stop halfway up and twist around to look at him. “I know it is, Beck. It has to be.”

This time, when I turn to resume my walk up the steps, every part of me is tired. I hope he doesn’t follow because all the fightis gone. If he asks me to change my mind, I will. And neither of us can afford that to happen.

But Beck doesn’t follow. I sense him lingering at the bottom of the stairs, watching me every step of the way.

I stay in my room the rest of the day. I don’t answer when he knocks at lunchtime. Eventually, he leaves without a word.

By dinner, I still haven’t moved. I haven’t eaten anything, either, although I don’t really want to.

He knocks again. “Sloan, I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but I know you haven’t eaten all day. So either open the goddamned door and eat this food or I’m going to break it down and force-feed you. Do you understand me?”

If he twists the knob, he’ll find out it’s unlocked. But I don’t tell him. Instead, I go to the door, yank it open, and take the tray out of his hands. He’s brought a bowl of broth and a sandwich with a bottle of water and an apple. I don’t look at him or even say thank you when I carry it into the room and shut the door behind me.

“Don’t even think of dumping that broth, either, Sloan.” His voice through the door is sharp and crackling.

His feet shuffle and his breathing is audible for a while. But eventually, he goes away.

A single tear rolls down my cheek. I watch as it splashes into the broth, turning my amber-hued reflection into broken rings of ripples.

Later, he knocks again. When I don’t answer, he pokes his head in.

“I didn’t say come in, Beck.”

“My house, my rules. And you’re my employee.” He stands up tall and opens the door a little wider. “I’ve made you an appointment with Dr. Ramsay for tomorrow. Do I need to drive you or can I trust you’ll go?”

I hate the domineering He-Man act he’s putting on right now—well, more accurately, I hate how much part of me craves it—but I’ve been sick long enough that maybe a doctor can figure out what’s up before I waste away to nothingness.

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