Page 80 of Things I Wish I Said
With a sigh, she gets up and marches to the door, shutting it. “That’s better.”
I snort as she spins back around and smiles, my gaze homing in on her mouth as I remember what it felt like against my own before a brutal cough wracks her chest and my thoughts vanish.
“How are you feeling?”
She grunts out a response.
“I assume you’ve never drank before?”
She confirms my assumption with a shake of her head. “I’ve felt better.” She grimaces and crosses the room. “You were right, of course. Drinking probably wasn’t my best idea. Combine a shitty immune system and my first time drinking, and I guess this is what you get. Makes me wonder if the good day I had yesterday was just a fluke, or if the beer really messed me up that much.”
I shove my worry aside and slide the pack off my back and unzip it. “Well, I brought something that might help.”
“The coffee?” She eyes the paper cups.
“Well, yeah. But first . . .” I pull out the mason jar and thrust it toward her. The cloudy liquid sloshes inside, and she stares at it dubiously.
Reaching out, she tentatively takes it and wrinkles her nose. “What is this?”
“Homemade electrolytes.” I smirk.
Her eyes flick to me. “Haven’t you ever heard of Gatorade?”
“The store-bought stuff is full of junk. This is the best; it’s clean with none of the crappy additives. Drink and I promise you’ll perk up.”
She unscrews the cap, eyeing me warily when she takes a sniff. “It actually smells pretty good.”
I nod. “Down the whole thing.”
“Oooo, bossy.” She smiles before she tips the jar to her lips and takes a sip, unable to hide her smile. “It’s actually pretty good.” She takes another. “Salty, but lemony and sweet.”
“It’s what I always drink for baseball.” I wait as she downs the whole thing, then recap the jar and stow it back in my bag, before retrieving our coffees and the take-out bag off the dresser. “Breakfast sandwich or yogurt parfait? Greasy food usually helps me when I have a hangover, but I know you watch what you eat, so . . .” I trail off at her growing smirk. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You’re definitely thinking something.”
“It’s just . . . cute,” she says, unable to hide her smile. “I mean, for someone who doesn’t do relationships anymore and doesn’t believe in happily ever afters, you sure have this boyfriend thing down.”
My cheeks heat. “Yeah, well. I was a dick last night.”
“You weren’t.”
“I was.”
“So, is this an apology breakfast?”
I exhale, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. I mean, yeah, I feel bad for last night, but if I’m being honest, that’s not why I’m here.
I clear my throat, ignoring the churning in my gut as I pull the breakfast options out of the bag and hold them out. “I was worried about you.” I shrug. “Just wanted to make sure youfelt okay.”
My reasoning doesn’t quite fit, but it feels the closest thing to the truth.
She stares at me for a moment, saying nothing before she points to the sandwich in my right hand. “Breakfast sandwich, please.”
I hand it over and pull out one for me, then offer her the coffee. “I wasn’t sure if you were allowed caffeine, but . . .”
“I am,” she reassures me and takes the offered cup. After a tentative sip, she moans in appreciation. “You didn’t have to do all of this, but thank you.”
