“It’s…” My hand lands on the base of the glass, twisting it, the golden drink sparkling in the soft light just for a moment. Then I grab his hand instead, force myself to look into his eyes and speak the words I’ve been wanting to say to him all day. “You’re perfect. You’re the best man I’ve ever met. I’m falling for you in a way that I didn’t know was possible. And it’s breaking my heart that this is temporary. I don’t want to leave you.”
“Then don’t leave.” His words and his eyes are clear and open and vulnerable. Gutting.
“I don’t have a choice. It’s not up to me. But I wanted you to know that. There aren’t other men like you. There isn’t anyone like you.”
The words hit him hard, the overwhelming emotion written in the colour of his cheeks, his eyes skittering away as if he’s looking for a way to deny what I’ve just said. He tries with a joke. “You’re a little bit like me.”
“I’m not, though.” And the statement is both true and sad. “I wish I were like you. I wish I were half as clever and kind. And I’m certainly not as good-looking.”
He laughs. “Stop it. Look at your glasses. You look so hot. And I’d kill for skin as nice as yours.”
“Are you actually insane?”
“I think I might be. I am sort of… I’m not going to saydating, I guess…” There’s a touch of melancholy in his tone, but not a hint of bitterness. “I’m seeing myself. I’m liking myself. I think I have a pretty fierce crush on myself. So maybe that would be considered insane. By some.”
“I’m not you.”Not even a billionth as lovely as you.
“But you still are. And I like you back. And if you’re telling me not to get feelings because you’re leaving soon…” He sneaks a slight look over at me. “Then it’s too late. But that’s okay. I’m just thankful for the time we have. Even if there isn’t much of it.”
Feelings for me. Forme. “I don’t want to let you down. I will disappoint you, August.”
I’m about to go on, to try to get it out, but he cuts in before I can. “I don’t expect anything from you. Just so you know. I’m not asking you to be my partner or move in, or to do anything with me. I like spending time with you. It’s really that simple. You make me happy. And I don’t want you to think you’re responsible for my feelings or my choices. I know you have to go. I know you have work to do.” He laughs again, like he’s trying to break the tension that I know is all me. “So do me a favour and don’t break up with me because you’re worried about my feelings, okay? If you’re happy, then can we just be happy? For a few days or a few weeks?”
You’re going to die.
You’re going to be dead in two weeks.
You’re going to be dead, and my heart is falling to pieces.
“Is that ridiculous?” His question reminds me my thoughts are all internal turmoil. For him, this is as sweet as it should be for me. Making him happy. No strings attached.
“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,” I tell him. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I’ve been through it with shit men, believe me. But I’m never letting that happen again.” He turns away, breaking a clove of garlic off the bulb. “For tonight, I’m liking the boyfriend experience.”
A light laugh slips out of me. “Is that what this is?” I drop a kiss on his cheek, warmth spreading through every inch of me at the thought of it.
Him. My boyfriend. The impossible.
He turns his head towards me, leaning into the sensation. “Maybe. It’s easy with you. You make me happy.” He twists to catch my lips, a small peck.
And that’s all it takes.
The music moves on to the next track, the more upbeat if vastly inferior ‘Your Mama Don’t Dance.’ August’s cooking and singing, making small talk, and he’s right.
This is easy.
This is wonderful.
Thismakes me happy.
If I can only avoid thinking about what’s coming for both of us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
GOOD AUGUST
BOYFRIEND MATERIAL
