Page 37 of Love Galaxy

“Bottoms up.” Guiding his hand up an inch, I throw back the first mouthful of soup.

It’s as disgusting as ever. I try not to choke and force myself to swallow. Food is food, after all, even if it tastes like the devil made it.

Sorin goes next, and I twist at the waist, wanting to see his face. He screws his eyes shut, and actual pain lines radiate out from the corners of his mouth.

“Not good, hey?” I wince. “I tried, but I didn’t know any of the ingredients.”

“Mayhaps,” he says slowly, as if he’s picking his words with care, “for our next dinner, I’ll cook.”

“So long as you let me clean. Although—” I glance around at the mess, most of which Sorin has piled up beside the sink, ready to be washed—“I doubt anyone could get a kitchen as messy as I got yours.”

Tactfully, he doesn’t answer.

Hands on hips, I stare at the only bed.

Beside me, Sorin stares at the only bed.

This situation has got to be the start of a rude joke, but I can’t think of a punchline, so the silence stretches on.

He shifts from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his hands. He’d be the worst poker player. I swear I can actually feel uncertainty radiating off him like body heat. Apparently there’s a big difference between sharing a bowl of soup and sharing a bed.

“You should?—”

“Do you?—”

We start speaking at the same time, then stop. He nods for me to continue.

“I’ll take this side.” I cross the room to the side of the bed that’s obviously not used and place my cup of water on the empty bedside table. “You’ll hardly even notice I’m here.” Although it’s been a while since I’ve slept beside someone, I’ve been told I sleep like the dead—without moving, so I’m confident I can keep to my side without embarrassment. “See.” I kick off my shoes and lie down on one side, a hand under my cheek like a pillow and my knee pulled up toward my chest, then feign being asleep.

When nothing happens, I roll onto my back and sit up. “No?” I’ve got a sneaking suspicion Sorin’s going to be one of those men who think it’s their natural born right to suffer sleeping on the hard floor in favor of gifting the bed to the ‘delicate’ woman. But I’m not a maiden in need of saving. At least not in this instance.

Sorin takes a step toward the door.

“Please don’t run away again.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. I know I’m being selfish asking this of him, but I don’t want to spend another night by myself, lying awake for hours worrying about everything that could, and probably will, go wrong.

“Briar.” He closes his eyes. Hopefully it’s so he can’t see the cameras. Hopefully it’s not me he’s trying to ignore. “We want different things.” It’s like he’s got to force the words out, like he’d way prefer to remain silent and brooding.

“I’m sorry.” I scoot across the bed to be nearer to him. It breaks my heart to see him like this, so miserable, all because he thought he was signing up to LOVE GALAXY for a chance at love and instead got me. The woman who’s talked of nothing but her desire to escape.

“No.” Opening his eyes, he steps toward me. “I didn’t mean—Briar, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.”

“It isn’t yours either.”

“No,” he concedes, toeing off his boots and sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress sags under his weight, and I slip a few inches toward him.

I study the pattern of his scales, trying very hard to forget about Mr. Smith and LOVE GALAXY, but it’s almost impossible to separate what I’m feeling for Sorin from my feelings toward the dating show.

There are a million and one questions bombarding my brain. Like: am I developing genuine feelings for Sorin, or is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like? Or: by allowing myself to fall for Sorin, am I actually falling straight into Mr. Smith’s trap? And: why am I so desperate to return home when all that’s waiting for me is homelessness and unemployment?

My head pounds with the beginnings of a headache.

“I don’t not want to stay,” is what I say, breaking the silence.

There’s a pause, maybe as he tries to dissect the double negative.

I’mtrying to dissect the double negative.

“So you do want to stay?” His voice cracks, and he watches me with a guarded expression.

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