Page 89 of Love Sick

“Well, let me repay you. I ordered enough takeout for about six people. Please help me douse the alcohol with grease and binge Netflix.”

He settles back into the couch beside me, far closer than needed on this huge sectional with only two people. I don’t mind. If it was socially acceptable for friends to cuddle, I’d curl into that man and revel in his scent.

“We’re watchingTwilight. All five movies. Hope that’s okay.”

He frowns. “I don’t even get to choose the movie?”

I feign deep offense. “I amhungover, Julian.”

“You did that to yourself.”

Poking out my bottom lip, I shoot him puppy-dog eyes. “Pwease?”

He sighs. “Only if I’m allowed to make fun of it, and you don’t ever compare me to the Volturi.”

I blink for several seconds as I process that he knows the wordVolturi. “Have youwatchedTwilight?”

“I have never seen these movies, no.”

“Then…you’ve read—”

“Shut up. I have four older sisters. Also, I kept hoping Bella would come to her senses and tell them both to fuck off.”

The giggles cannot be contained. I spend the next several hours eating noodles and heatedly arguing thatTwilightis a love story, not a horror that glamorizes domestic abuse, suicide and pedophilia.

He ignores the gel pack. That’s the only reason I hold it there until it’s warmed. The only reason I continue to touch him once the pack falls away. The only reason my fingers slide between his, my thumb brushing the largest scrape on his first knuckle. When he doesn’t pull away, I lean into him, and my head finds its way to his shoulder, my eyes falling shut.

A sense of safety emits from him, drawing me in. Hesavedme.

Whatever magic pheromone dust coats his skin snakes through my nervous system, and I grow luxuriously warm. Drowsy. I fight the urge not to bury my nose in his neck.

So maybe it is socially appropriate for friends to cuddle.

Or maybe…

We’re not friends.

* * *

At didactics the next week, a bleary-eyed Alesha sits next to me with a new travel mug sporting a sparkly unicorn with curly letters that read Back the Fuck Up, Sprinkle Tits. Today Is Not the Day. I Will Shank You With My Horn.

“Nights got you down?” I ask. My own sleepiness weighs on my eyes.

She nods. “Up all night. You?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

The only good part about nights at Vincent is that Julian is on days instead of someone awful like Ling Ferris-Smith, our chief. Of course that also means I barely see him, and our study sessions have once again come to an abrupt halt.

“Thank god we only have to stay here an hour.” My yawn distorts the last word.

Asher pulls a chair out next to me.

I scoot to make room. “Good morning!”

His tight smile is unusual. “Morning, Grace.” His tone is neutral, hovering on cold, and I’m confused. Is he okay?

I peer closer at him. “Something wrong?”

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