“No,” he admits. “But the stuff you made was better than this. And it was nice to have variety.”
“I could start making your lunch again,” I offer. “I make my own anyway, and it’s hardly more work to make two.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Drew, we’re pretending to be in a relationship,” I tell him. “And if we were, there’s no way I’d let you eat premade microwaveable food for every meal.” I’m sure he’s buying high end stuff, but the idea is still depressing.
“Well, okay, then,” he agrees. “Would you cook me dinner, too? If we were really in a relationship?”
“Sure. But I’d probably also insist you take your turn in the kitchen.”
He grins. “You might regret that. I’m not much of a cook.”
“That’s what people say when they want an excuse not to cook.”
“In my case, it’s also true,” he says with a shrug. “Do you want to watch more TV?”
I’m about to say yes when I remember he might have other things he wants to do tonight. I don’t want him to feel like he needs to keep me company.
“Actually, I’m pretty exhausted,” I say. “I might head to bed.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Drew’s brow furrows in concern. It’s barely eight o’clock, so it’s a valid question. “Is your arm sore?”
“No. I mean, it aches a little, but it’s fine.”
The line between his eyebrows deepens. “Can I have a look?”
I obligingly hold out my arm, and he takes it in his hands. There’s a gauze dressing over the cut, so there’s not much to see.
“There’s not much redness around it,” he says. “Tomorrow we can take the dressing off to have a better look. We want to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
“Do you fuss like this over all your patients?” I tease.
He rolls his eyes and lets go of my arm. “I never fuss, Ally.”
“If you say so.” My sentence ends on a yawn; I wasn’t lying about being exhausted.
Drew chuckles. “Bedtime, huh?”
“It’s been a long day.”
He nods. “Good night, then.”
“Night, Drew.”
I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth, then change into Drew’s T-shirt. It’s loose on me, falling to mid-thigh, and wonderfully comfortable.
Then I stretch out on the bed with a Lincoln Lawyer novel from Drew’s bookshelf. For a pull-out, this bed is wonderfully comfortable. The mattress is better than the one I have at home, which I bought on clearance at Wal-Mart.
Five minutes later, I hear footsteps in the hallway, and there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Hey, Drew,” I say, pulling the door open.
“Sorry to bother you,” he says awkwardly. “I realized my laptop’s still on the desk, and I wondered if you’d mind?—”
“Of course.” I grab the laptop and charging cable and carry them back to Drew, who never moves from the doorway.
“Thanks,” he says as I hand them to him. “Sleep well, Ally.”
