Page 47 of Infatuated as They Come
With a sigh, I kept both plates on the kitchen counter and just busied myself with editing my article for the paper. I was a good hour into that when I finally heard the door open, and as soon as I got sight of Sawyer, I could already see how tired he was.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his gravelly voice sounding that little bit rougher than it usually did. With a lazy shrug, he let his jacket slide off his shoulders, giving it a slow, sluggish throw to the couch.
I stood up and practically yanked him over to the dining table. “You need to sit and eat.”
“Can I shower first?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because.” I gave him a gentle push into one of the chairs. “Look how late it is! It’s nearly eight! You’ve been gone forfifteenhours! I had cheer practice, two lectures, two classes, talked to your cousin on the phone, went to the library, bought groceries, and I still got home way before you.”
“You had a busy day,” he deadpanned.
I groaned as I stormed into the kitchen to heat his food up in the microwave. “What kind of auto shop is this? How many cars are you even fixing? Because no one’s supposed to even drive in this city.”
“I know, it’s a mystery.”
I turned around, and suddenly he was right there in the doorway, one shoulder leaning up against it. “No! Get out. Go sit.”
“Why are you being so weird?” He laughed, and Ihated that I could hear some tiredness seeping into that sound too, like he was strained from top to bottom, from the inside and out. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that you’re working stupid crazy hours. You’re pushing yourself too much.”
“Well, how else would we live here? You don’t like it here? Is that it?” His voice got all low, the tone teasing. “Do you miss your mansion, princess?”
I grabbed his plate of pasta from the microwave. “No.” I scoffed. “I do not miss my mansion. And I love it here. I love living with you. It’s just that you’re pushing yourself too hard, and I know you’re doing it for me. I don’t like the idea of you spending all of that money you earn on rent. Rent money is dead money.”
“You sound like your dad.”
“Ew. Don’t say that.” One hand holding the plate, I used my other to drag him back over to the dining room.
“What’d you make? It smells good.”
“Pasta.”
“What kind?”
“Just eat it.”
“You gonna give me short answers all night?”
“Aren’t you tired of having to look after yourself?” I blurted out as I pushed him into a chair. “I know you’ve been doing it your whole life and I know it probably feels weird to just follow your dreams.”
He snorted. “Follow my dreams?”
“You know what I mean!” I said, teeth gritted. “You could just quit tomorrow and paint every day.”
“Holly, come on.” Head thrown back slightly, he groaned. “Not this again.”
“I’m not saying this stuff to annoy you.”
“I know.”
“So let me do it. Let me worry about the money and then you can worry about doing what you love.”
“No.”
