Page 8 of Delicious
Mason looks gorgeous, although he doesn’t look like he got much sleep. Still, I’m betting he doesn’t look as warmed over as I do.
“I know you’re probably sick of me asking,” he says, “but how are you feeling?”
“I’m mostly sure I’m not dead, but other than that I couldn’t tell you.”
His expression is one of sincere concern. “Can I get you anything?”
“You’ve done more than you needed to,” I mutter. “More than I deserve.”
“Hardly,” he scoffs. “You deserve everything.”
That’s nice of him to say. “Do you want to go back to your place and take a shower? Again, you don’t have to watch me. Iama full-grown adult.”
Even though I like him watching me. I like being taken care of.
“I wouldn’t mind a shower, no. Or some fresh clothes. I’m doing the walk of shame, but we did nothing to be ashamed of.” He clears his throat and stands, setting the dishes on the room service cart. “Want to meet up later?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “I think if I rest a little bit, I’ll be up for it.”
He gives me a big smile. “Then let me have your number—ten years late. You can text me when you’re feeling better.”
I rattle it off, and he enters it into his phone, then texts me a green-face emoji. I roll my eyes. “I’ll see you later. Don’t forget your jacket.”
Mason grins and grabs it. “Later.” He puts a few bills on the table. “This is for breakfast.” Before I can protest, he slips out. I wish I could follow him. But after sleep and breakfast, I’m willing to wager that if I get myself clean, I might start to feel like a human being.
I take a long bath and another short nap, and when I wake again, I text Mason.
Ben
I’m among the living again.
He returns my message immediately.
Mason
Want to go do something this afternoon?
Ben
Not a triathlon, but yes.
Mason
What about the Rodin museum? It’s like a private park. Calm. Easy. But it’s cultural-ish.
Ben
Is that a word?
Mason
It is now.
Mason
Meet you there in an hour?
Ben
