Page 48 of Facing Off
I sit down and funnel a piece of pancake into my mouth pronto, glaring at him.
Oh, fu?—
I take another bite. Then another.
“Go ahead.” He smiles sweetly. “Pretend to hate it.”
I totally will.
I bring my hand up to my mouth, to stop any rogue moans from slipping out.
Then I pop part of the star-shaped pineapple into my mouth, sneaking a glance at Hughes. Absolute delight dances across his expression.
I straighten and move onto the “best” crêpe. I don’t think I’ve ever had one before, but not because of food scarcity. Some kids in the system experienced that, but I never did. If anything, I had food boredom.
My foster guardians gave us food that met all nutritional standards, but not flavorful ones. The pantry was stocked with canned beans and never any snacks. It’s something I got used to even after I left them, because being a ballerina requires a more nutrient-dense, balanced diet to fuel the rigorous training we have to do. Indulgences have been few and far between, my love of Mexican food being one of them. I section off a piece of the crêpe and slowly taste it. My eyes close, because otherwise he would see them rolling back.
Ten minutes later, the crêpe is demolished. So are most of the scrambled eggs and half the pancakes. I push thetray away, because if I don’t, I’ll overeat past the point of comfort.
“Tell your chef I said thank you. And send me their contact information.” I have to buy them a gift card because that was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.
Adrian pulls out his phone. Starts typing on it, with the cheesiest smile on his face.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up.
HUGHES
Heard you wanna thank this chef? How about a kiss!
My jaw drops. I have to shut it quickly before he notices. “Youmade all of this?”
With the amount of money he has and the complexities of this meal, I just figured he’d thrown money at someone to make it. Not that he stood in his own kitchen and took all that time cooking for me…
I freeze, only my eyes blinking.
First, the hospital rescue, then he’d watched over me last night, and now this? It’s too much. All my muscles clench. I’m shaken.
Hughes picks up the tray and walks out of the room to go put it away, I assume.
As soon as he’s gone, I rush to gather my stuff again. I’m throwing my bag over my shoulder when the door swings open. How’s he back so fast?
“Everything okay?” Hughes asks, tilting his head and examining me. His smile dims a bit. “What’s wrong?”
I straighten and stare at him. “Bathroom,” I stammer, needing the quickest escape, and not wanting to answer him when I feel this…unbalanced…
It’s the adjacent door to my right where I rush over,slam the door shut, and lock myself in. The bathroom is as indulgent as the bedroom. There’s a jacuzzi meant for a group and one of those stalls that include a bench and multiple shower heads
I go to the mirror and look at myself.
Pupils dilated, tops of my cheeks deepening in color, and parted lips. My hands grip the counter. I inhale. Exhale. Tell myself,you’re okay.
I have to calm down. To not be affected, as if I’m lost at sea and his gestures aren’t waves trying to knock me over, one by one.
I bet they don’t mean much to him, but to me? My eyebrows squish together. I want to run. Retreat. Hide somewhere I can be alone, to refortify my defenses.
Searching through the pockets of my sweater, I pull out a kohl pencil.
I tug the skin underneath my eye so I can reach my waterline, dragging along the color. It’s not much, but this helps. It’s my armor.You’re going to be okay.
