Page 87 of Ruin Me Gently

Her fingers hovered before she snapped her wallet shut and turned her head toward me. “I can pay for my own stuff.”

“I know,” I murmured.

Her jaw tightened. Not with anger, but something else, like she was trying to figure out what had just happened.

What had just happened was simple. She was hungry. And I had money. More than enough. And she deserved someone to do this shit for her—someone who actually gave a fuck.

The cold slapped me again the second we stepped outside, sharp enough to bite through my coat, but not enough to pull my focus away from her.

She exhaled, her breath a soft cloud in the air, then glanced up at me. “Thank you.”

My gaze dropped to the bag swinging from her fingers. “Want me to hold that?”

Her head tilted slightly, as if considering, then she shrugged. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Her lips quirked, something small, but it was there. Then she passed it to me, and we walked in step, her boots scuffing against the pavement as she flung questions at me left, right and centre, determined to drag words out of me like it was some kind of sport.

“Be honest,” she said, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Do you have a whole basement full of unmarked VHS tapes?”

I huffed through my nose, shaking my head. “No.”

She nodded to herself. “Hmm. That’s exactly what someone with a whole basement full of unmarked VHS tapes would say.”

I shot her a look.

“Okay,” she grinned. “Tell me one thing about yourself that isn’t terrifying.”

“Terrifying?”

“Give me something. Anything. Otherwise, I’m just going to assume you were born in a government lab, and you’re doing all of this as a part of some weird top-secret assignment.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it, rattling my chest.

She slowed her pace, but didn’t look at me. “You have a pretty laugh.”

Pretty.

That was the second time she’d ever called me pretty, and just like the first time, it wrecked me a little on the inside.

“Yeah?” My voice came out like I’d swallowed a handful of gravel and chased it with a shot of embarrassment.

She hummed nonchalantly. “Mhmm.”

My mouth opened, then closed again underneath the scarf. “Thanks.”

She smiled, and I had to look away, heart hammering like some idiot kid with a crush.

Get a grip.

When we reached her house, I extended her bag like it was evidence in a courtroom. “Here.”

She barely glanced at it. “No. Absolutely not.”

I frowned. “It’s your stuff.”

“And now it’s your problem,” she said, walking up her steps and unlocking the door with a flick of her wrist. The lock clicked, the door swung open, and she turned to look at me like I was some kind of particularly dense stray she was coaxing inside. “Come on, in you get.”

---