Page 39 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
He leans in enough to make it apparent what he wants, but not enough to crowd me. “Every second of every day.”
I melt, and my heart thunders with an unignorable yes. I nod, and he slowly descends on my lips, cradling my cheek to ease me into the kiss. It’s soft and gooey and so unlike anything we’ve shared before. He’s got me trapped in honey like an unsuspecting fly, and I need to taste him like an addict needs their next hit. He’s gentle with me, but not in a way one would be when handling broken glass. He’s gentle with me in a way that one exudes reverence for something delicate, yet not entirely fragile.
I’m caught up in him. I’m caught up in everything about him. The way he reassures me with comforting words, the way he showers me with affection, the way he looks at me like he’ll forget me the second he tears himself away. I never want us to unentangle from each other. I never want this warm feeling to go away. But of course, it seems like there’s always something standing between us. Without warning, my stomach makes this loud, drawn-out gurgling noise, and embarrassment practically swallows me alive.
Gage pulls back immediately. “Was that your stomach?”
I fold my lower lip over, wishing that a car would magically come careening into his second-story room and pin my lifeless body up against the wall. “You heard that?”
He shoots me areally?look. “I think the entirety of California heard that.”
“Ass,” I joke, but the humor seems to be lost on him.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve gotten you food at the hospital,” he apologizes, and to my utter confusion, guilt seethes in his eyes.
Why is he apologizing? He didn’t do anything wrong. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“But I do. The last thing on your mind right now is taking care of yourself, so I need to be the one taking care of you.”
Tight-chested, I relinquish a breathy “Gage…”
“When was the last time you ate?”
Shit. I don’t know. This morning? I’ve been running around all day. But judging by the already-pissed expression suffusing his face, I feel like telling the truth would do more harm than good. Though my silence is telling in itself.
“This morning,” I admit.
Gage’s mouth splits into a frown, and he runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck, Cali. It’s ten at night. You’re telling me you’ve barely eaten at all today?”
“I’m fine, Gage.”
“You’re not,” he immediately chides, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Please tell me you had something nutritious. Protein, healthy fat, fiber.”
I wish I could say yes, but I can’t. I had a sugary blueberry muffin before I dropped Teague off at school. A sugary blueberry muffin that was a pathetic article of sustenance for the entire day.
Taking my silence as an answer, he stands up. “Jesus Christ, give me a second.”
I don’t know where he goes, but he leaves the room, and I’m left sitting in the figurative—and literal—darkness for a good five minutes. There’s a lot of clanking going on downstairs, but I stay where I am, becoming increasingly aware of the empty state of my belly.
Finally, the aroma of slightly burnt cheese wafts through my nostrils, and Gage shoulders the partition open, carrying a plate piled mountain-high with cheddar cheese melted over oven-warmed fries.
“Please eat more frequently throughout the day,” he implores, plopping the plate in my lap.
My mouth waters when I notice the tiny bits of bacon he’s sprinkled throughout for some extra protein. “You really didn’t have to make anything for me.”
“I know this might be hard to believe, but I can’t stand knowing that you’re this hungry all the time.”
“It’s just my work schedule,” I insist, trying my best to allay his concern. “Some days I forget to eat, but it’s really no big deal.”
The angry knit of his eyebrows tells me he’s unconvinced. “That’s a huge deal, Cali.”
“It’s not. I promise you I’m not even that hungry—” Of course, my traitorous stomach decides to chime in with a thunderous roar that lasts for several seconds, and I instantly slap a hand over my belly. My cheeks flare with heat as Gage’s eyes drop to the source of the noise.
“You need to eat. And if you’re not going to eat right now, then I’ll just have to feed you. Is that what you want? Because we won’t leave this room until you finish everything on that plate.”
Gage is mad. Like,reallymad. I’ve never seen this side of him before. It’s concern disguised as anger, and it’s somehow more terrifying than pure anger itself. I didn’t realize my eating habits were such a big deal to him.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m a burden,” I mumble under my breath.
