Page 140 of Things I Wish I Said
“JK.” She barks out a laugh, then stands back up, bouncing on the balls of her feet as if the idea of making me blush turns her giddy.
Maybe it does.
And maybe I’m okay with it.
Because anything that makes Sinclair smile isworth it.
I chuckle as she bounds toward me and pecks me on the cheek. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go first.”
“Yeah, sure.” I hand off her bag. My movements are slightly wooden, not wanting to alert her to how much her words affected me.
Once she disappears inside, I exhale and sink down on the bed, laughing a little at myself. I’m like a kid with his first fucking crush. I’m not even sure I recognize myself.
A couple hours later, we’re sitting side by side, a silver cart beside the bed filled with empty plates and the remnants of our dinner.
“I’m going to”?she motions to her wig?“take this off if that’s okay.”
I frown, finding the insinuation I might not be okay with the real her insulting.
She doesn’t wait for a reply to rise from the bed, which I hope is a sign it was a rhetorical question. My eyes track her movements, sliding from the thin purple cotton camisole she’s wearing to her tiny lace-trimmed shorts. Part of me wonders if she thought of me when she chose these particular pajamas for the trip or if she always wears ones like this. They’re both feminine and sexy as fuck, and any irritation I feel at her for thinking I’m not okay with her just as she is vanishes, replaced by a simmering heat in my veins.
She disappears into the bathroom, and I jerk my gaze away, leaning my head back against the headboard, trying to get my mind right before she returns.
This trip isn’t about that.
It’s about her, not me, and I don’t want to turn it into anything else.
When she returns, she’s wearing one of her colorful scarves tied around her head. She sinks down onto the bed, her leg brushing mine, and a spark of heat follows.
“Why the scarf?” I ask, playfully tugging one end of it.
It’s stupid to be disappointed, but I kind of thought she’d come out with nothing on, and it pains me a little that she didn’t, like she’s afraid I might think any less of her without anything on her head.
She shrugs, saying nothing.
“Sinclair, you can be real with me. You don’t need it. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” She bites her lower lip with her teeth, and I want to trap it with my own.
More than that, I want to erase whatever insecurity this is, but I know I probably can’t do that in one night if I haven’t been able to in the weeks I’ve known her. So I don’t push. But I make a silent vow to have her sleeping without it by the end of the trip.
“What’s your favorite part of the trip so far?” I ask, nudging her leg again.
Her smile is instantaneous, bright enough to light the sky. “That’s easy. The moment we pulled up to Dodger Stadium and I got to see the look on your face.”
I search her eyes for the lie and find none.
“What about you?” she asks.
“This.” I motion between us. “Right here. Right now. Just being with you like this. That’s been the favorite part of every day since we met.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispers.
“Why?”
“Because I might believe them.”
“You should.” I reach up and brush a thumb over her cheek. “Your body and cancer might let you down, but I never will.”
