“Did I say something wrong?” I asked hesitantly. “You don’t have to have pizza, I can order something else.”
His jaw clenched, and I wasn’t sure why he looked so agitated.
“Ash? What is it?”
“I’m bulimic.”
I stared at him in surprise, and I knew I had reacted wrongly as soon as he turned on his heel and headed back to the bedroom.
“Ash!” I hurried after him, catching his elbow. “Hey, slow down.” I tugged on his arm. “Ash,talkto me.”
He stood with his back to me at the foot of my bed. “I started making myself sick in high school. I was big, I was strong, and I couldn’t get rid of the excess pounds. I needed to be within a certain weight range to play offense and not defense.”
He stood so still, his arms hung loose at his side, but his hands were curled into fists. His back was ramrod straight, and I ached to hug him. I inched forward, stopping when he spoke again.
“I figured out that if I overate, then I could be sick, and the weight would come off.”
“That’s not a sustainable plan,” I murmured, moving closer, as he stayed turned away from me.
Ash gave a grunt of agreement. “Yeah, it isn’t. And it’s difficult to hide when Gray is your best friend and sees too much.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, but I could tell how hard this was for him, and I really wanted nothing more than to be there for him. “Gray helped you?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Told Jett, and then the two of them dragged me in front of my mom and dad and made me confess it all.”
“Oh.” I moved closer, my arms slipping around his waist, and I hugged him from behind, my cheek pressed into his back. “You know that was the right thing, don’t you?”
A large hand covered mine, our fingers once more, locking together. “Yeah, at the time I was pissed though.” He pulled me around to face him, our arms around each other’s waists, whilehe looked down at me. “I didn’t want the others to know I was a loser.”
I tried to pull my hand away to slap him, but he held me tight, so I scowled at him instead. “Having an eating disorder doesnotmake you a loser. Donotcall yourself a loser, or Iwillhit you.”
He smiled at me. “Have you always been so violent?”
“You bring it out in me, talking down about yourself like that.” I shook my head. “I won’t have it.”
He held my gaze, his look thoughtful, but I could see the lingering vulnerability. “You’re not judging me?”
I blinked in surprise, pushing myself away from him. “I know the last few weeks I haven’t been mybest self,” I said while I used air quotes, “but I don’t judge. I would never judge someone, not like that.” I pushed my hand through my hair. “Do you know how many diets I’ve been on?” I poked myself in my tummy. “I look at a slice of cake and gain three pounds.”
He grinned slowly. “Iknowit doesn’t work like that.”
“Yeah, well, tell my metabolism,” I said, only half joking.
We lapsed into silence, both of us assessing each other. I scratched my chin as I realized something. “That’s why you freaked out that first day, you weren’t expecting me not to be able to cook.”
He looked guilty. “In hindsight, not my best day.”
“Who cooks for you?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, patting it until Ash sat beside me.
“Gray. Before him, Quinn. But Gray cooks the most in the house.” He got comfortable. “At home, my mom ensures I eat right.”
I nodded. “Binges?”
He gave a quick jerk of his head, looking uneasy, and I knew not to push.
“Okay, I can help with the cravings,” I told him. “Usually it means your body is missing something, in my case, usually sugar.” I reached over and took his hand. “There hasn’t been a diet I haven’t been on, and while I can’t cook, Icanhelp.”
“You don’t . . . You don’t have to do that,” he said softly.
