Page 116 of Things I Wish I Said
I swallow, and his words go down like whiskey, warming my insides. Part of me doesn’t know what to make of Grayson; it’s hard to tell how he really feels when he so rarely tells me. And the fact I’m even wondering if he feels anything for me at all is a problem, especially when I might not be around long enough for it to matter.
“What about your clothes? Do you want me to wash them?” I ask, changing the subject before I agree.
“Shit. I didn’t think about that.” He glances down at himself before shaking his head. “Don’t bother. I can change when I get home.”
“Okay, if you’re sure?”
He meets my eyes. “I am.”
I turn to leave, but he stops me, catching my hand in his and giving it a little squeeze. “Thanks, Sinclair.”
“Sure thing,” I croak, unsettled by both his proximity and the heat of his touch. “I won’t be far if you need anything.”
He nods and reaches for the hem of his shirt, while I tear my eyes away and shut the door behind me.
Once I’m back inside my room, I pace, trying not to think about how Grayson De Leon is naked inside my bathroom right this very minute. He’s probably using my favorite soap. Maybe even my shampoo.
I close my eyes and press my fingers to my temples, imagining the suds sliding over slick, tawny skin.
“Get a grip, Ryleigh,” I mumble to myself.
He’s hurt for fuck’s sake. I saw the bruises all over his body myself, and it was devastating.
The memory darkens my thoughts, and I try to focus on that, rather than the sexy, chiseled, naked man just down the hall.
I groan and sink back onto my bed, wondering what’s wrong with me. I have a million other things going on right now, far more pressing matters than the boy stroking my libido.
I should be thinking about my cancer. What I’m going to tell my mother. Focusing on the award and getting her approval to travel, not lusting over my fake boyfriend.
But he’s the best distraction.
“Not helping, Ry,” I mutter.
“Talking to yourself, Sinclair?”
I gasp, startled at the sound of Grayson’s voice.
I whip around to face him, my eyes flicking over to the messy damp hair. A drop of water clings to his neck, slowly making a path toward the neck of his shirt.
I swallow.
“My left eye and the gash on my head make my injuries hard to hide.”
“Your stomach doesn’t look great either.”
His brows rise, surprise rounding the darks of his eyes.
“I, um, kind of got a peek last night.”
Great. Now he thinks I was checking him out while he was incapacitated, like some kind of creeper.
“Uh, not that I was ogling you or anything while you were passed out, but your shirt rode up and I saw the bruises . . . never mind,” I say at the heat in my cheeks.
Grayson chuckles. “Relax. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.” He takes a seat beside me on the bed, and exhales. “My mom will want to know what happened, and if I tell her, she’ll lose her shit.”
“Probably,” I confirm.
“Will you go with me?”
