I unfold the garment. “A hoodie?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine. Thank you, though.” I hold it out to him.
“Just take it.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You do…” He puffs a breath. “There is a noticeable wet spot on your skirt.”
Trailing my hand down, I swipe my fingers across the still-damp fabric. “Fine,” I say as the corners of my mouth drag down.
It’s not his goal. At least I tell myself that, but this hoodie digs at that self-pity I’m trying to stuff back down. Despite my best attempt to be the secure-in-herself blind woman, moments like this drag up old insecurities. Like, how if I were sighted, I’d know the wet spot on my skirt is noticeable.
“I can hold this, so you can put it on,” he murmurs, curling his fingers over mine on the handle of my cane.
“Please, stop.” I fight the shake in my voice.
“Stop what?” He moves closer, his body’s warmth almost cradling me.
“Trying to take care of me. I can take care of myself.” I know he means well, but it’s just too much right now. It yanks free emotions that I am trying so hard to push down.
He makes a throaty growl noise. “Why do you have to be like this?”
“Like what?” My brow scrunches.
“Like Jensen.”
“What does that mean?” I press my lips into a firm line.
“A stubborn pain-in-the-ass.”
I glower. “You’re the ass expert, since you’re being one to Miles.”
“The literary fuckboy?” He lets out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t get your fascination with him.”
“It’s easy with Miles. He’s fun,” I say through clenched teeth.
He huffs a dismissive snort.
“There’s nothing wrong with fun.”
“He’s a clown in his sports jackets with vintage T-shirts, spouting about being untethered. It’s textbookPeter Panbullshit. It’s pathetic. You’re wasting your time on him.”
Pathetic?The word surges through me like hot lava, drowning any lingering self-pity. In its wake is only anger.
“I’m not pathetic.”
“Jensen, I?—”
“No. You don’t get to call me pathetic and have me listen to you.” I toss the sweatshirt at him and spin on my heels. Only to spin back. “You know what, I may be wasting my time with Miles, but at least he doesn’t judge me. He doesn’t treat me like an injured stray kitten he’s obligated to take care of.”
“I… You’re being ridiculous. You’re not?—”
“You insult me, andI’mthe ridiculous one.” An unhinged laugh falls out of me.
“Jensen—”
