To that, I respond with raised shoulders and a panicked, “I don’t fucking know.”
My current course of behavior is going to leave me no choice but to explain that I’ve been lying to her about my relationship with Leo, and that I haven’t been going to a café to work, but have been going on excursions to break into his house.
I’m not sure what game he’s trying to play right now, or if this is some twisted ploy to lead me on before shoving me to the side. None of this is making any sense to me, and half my brain is expecting the worst; the other is frolicking happily through the meadows because my dream is coming true.
The former is a much louder thought.
“So—”
“What time are you leaving?” I ask before Joyce can finish her sentence.
Leo pauses, glancing over his shoulder. The vein in his forehead tics, and the tense air grows thorns. “I’ll fly out in an hour, but I won’t be playing.”
“Are you injured?” I carefully inspect him from behind the counter. I didn’t notice a limp, and there’s no visible strapping or brace. “You weren’t yesterday,” I add to sell the wholegirlfriend-boyfriendthing that we apparently are.
“Something like that.” His voice is tight.
Joyce makes an appreciative sound. “This is really good,” she says around a mouthful.
An unexpected surge of jealousy has me seeing green, and I try to tamp it down by shoving food into my mouth. Every cell is telling me to one-up her or remind her that he doesn’t know she doesn’t like bread—but he knows exactly how I like mine.
I take an aggressive bite down on my lightly toasted slice. I’m being irrational. I’m going to blame it on the fact that Leo is standing four feet away, and I can’t ask him anything because she’s here.
We eat in silence and let Leo clean up—something I feel guilty about but can’t do anything about because I’m too busy simmering and choking on the tense air.
“Er, well, it was nice to meet you, Leo,” Joyce says, creeping out of her chair and dumping her unfinished plate beside the sink. “I need to pick up a spare TV from my uncle. Thank you for breakfast.”
Leo grunts, and I hate that I get a little more upset when he throws out her uneaten food and washes her plate while she runs around to get ready. Once he’s done, he leans against the counter, crosses his arms, and watches me.
My cheeks burn under his attention, and I lose what little appetite I have, but I force myself to eat because my brain is convinced that it’ll somehow impress him sinceIfeel all gooey inside whenever people polish off what I’ve cooked.
Neither of us speaks, and the quiet stretches long after the door closes behind Joyce.
I swallow the last bite, finish off my tea and medication, and still I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye until he mutters, “Good,” as he takes my empty plate.
Four letters. One syllable. That’s all it takes for me to shrug off my hoodie because my internal temperature has turned molten.
It heats and heats the longer I stare at his back muscles rippling beneath his shirt while he washes and dries the dishes.
In the silence, the doubt ebbs away. He wouldn’t be here knowing everything he knows about me if he planned on throwing it in my face—if it turns out he does have a girlfriend.He wouldn’t have made breakfast for me and Joyce, or told me to stay at his house, or kept messaging me.
The worry hits me tenfold when he turns around and levels me with a weighted look I can’t decipher. He’s... expectant. Of what? I’m not sure. Something tells me he’s not waiting for my barrage of questions.
Surely any second now he’s going to tell me I’m a despicable human for what I’ve done to him and his sister. He’s going to tell me that he never wants to see me again, and to stay away or he’ll call the cops. It’d be the logical thing for him to do.
It’s what anormalperson would do.
I try to think of responses to convince him not to—that we’d be perfect for each other, and that I’m still the same girl he’s been texting, and none of this needs to change anything. But all I can come up with is that it’d be a losing game.
At the end of the day, people like him never end up with people like me.
“I have another game out of state tonight. We’ll go out for dinner tomorrow. I’ll have a dress sent over.”
Hold on.“What?” That’s the last thing I was expecting him to say.
“That’s what boyfriends do.” Leo arches a brow like it’s obvious. “They shower their girlfriend with gifts and take them out to nice restaurants.”
My mouth opens and shuts like a fish. “We aren’t...”I wish we were.“That girl in the photo...”
