Page 83 of The Devil's Weakness

“I can’t even think about food at the moment,” she admits.

I stand and walk into the kitchen, getting ready to search her cabinets.

“What are you doing?” she asks, suddenly,

She sounds nervous, and when I look at her, she appears as though she’s embarrassed.

When I open the first cabinet I come to, I realize why. It’s nearly bare. There is a box of macaroni and cheese and a can of tuna. I close those doors and open the next one. This one is empty.

“I haven’t had a chance to go to the grocery store,” she says defensively. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

Her attitude came back as soon as she thought she was going to appear weak. It’s a pattern I’ve picked up on over the past several days.

“You don’t need to be like that with me, you know.”

“Like what?” she snaps.

“I’m not going to judge or pity you for anything. Ever. So, you don’t need to lash out at me to keep yourself from feeling vulnerable.”

We continue looking at one another in a silent standoff. I wait to see if she’s going to keep pushing or if she’ll back down.

“I’m sorry,” she says, finally.

“You know, you’re a lot more amicable when you’re sick,” I laugh, clearing the air.

She rolls her eyes playfully and pulls the covers around her tightly.

“I have an idea. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I wink.

* * *

I went homeand grabbed a can of soup to take back to Sasha’s house so I could cook it for her. I kept a spare key when I put her copy on the counter. She’s probably going to demand I give it back to her, but that’s not happening. Although she has been awfully nice and agreeable this evening, so we’ll see. She could surprise me.

When I open the door to her apartment, she’s still on the sofa, but she’s watching television.

“Hey, I went home and got you some chicken soup. I know you’re not hungry, but it might help your stomach feel better.”

“You brought me chicken soup?” she asks, surprised at the gesture.

“It’s not a big deal. I just want to take care of you.”

I open the can and find a pot to heat it up in. While it’s cooking, I go in search of a bowl and a spoon.

“To the left of the stove,” she calls out, directing me.

When the soup is good and hot, I pour it into the bowl. Then I grab a few paper towels and bring them to her as well. I sit down next to her on the sofa as she sips her soup.

“Mmm…” she moans when the broth hits her tongue.

It has my cock at attention the second the sound hits my ears.

Down, boy…this isn’t the time for that.

Though if she shows any sign that she’s in the mood, it’s game fucking on. I shift in my seat, trying to rearrange myself, casually, without her noticing.

“What are you watching?” I ask, trying to get her attention on something other than my growing erection.

“Nothing, really. We don’t have cable. I’ve just been flipping through the few local channels that we get.”

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