Page 45 of Lessons in Faking
Drawers were opening and closing. “Yeah,” he said. “Four of them, actually.”
“Foursisters?” I felt dumb just repeating every word he said, but I was sick, and I’m sure he understood.
“Diana, Denise, Dakota, Delilah.” I was unconcerned with what he was doing in my kitchen. As I closed myeyes, all I focused on was his voice: how softly he spoke, how calming it was.
“Diana’s the eldest, just finished grad school. Then Denise: gap year in Europe and never came back.”
“I love Europe,” I mumbled, turning on my side.
McCarthy went on. “After Denny, my mother was blessed withthisfine specimen. I was seven when Dakota was born, and Mom said I wanted her gone immediately. I don’t blame myself. She’s a pain in the ass even now. Delilah’s only twelve.” He concluded, right by my side again.
When I opened my eyes, his deep dimple, white teeth, and smooth-shaven face immediately filled my entire field of vision. His lips were spread into a wide smile, one filled with love, adoration, and longing to be back home with his family. I just couldn’t look away.
“They sound like they’re all much better than you.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
He sighed. “They are.”
“And you sure you’ll be fine? With my germs?” He was so close, there was no way I hadn’t fully breathed all of them into his face. Poor guy.
“Is that... concern?” His eyes widened, playful shock in his features as he spoke. “Now, who would’ve thought? Athalia Payton Pressley. Concerned. For me.”
I was only focused on the way he’d said my full name. And that I kind of wanted to hear him say it again.
“Never,” I said. “I just know men and the flu do not mix well. Always so whiny. As your girlfriend, I don’t want to have to deal with that.” McCarthy turned to the coffee table,then faced me again with a plate in hand, like a reminder that he was here to take care ofme, and I shouldn’t worry about what might happen to him because of it.
“I’m not hungry.” It shot out of me, eyeing the two plain slices of toast suspiciously. I didn’t mean to be difficult, but the thought of eating was unbearable enough. Actually eating seemed ten times worse.
“That’s too bad. Because you have to eat, Princess.”
I shook my head, trying to ignore the nickname that had more of an effect on me each time he used it. My stomach fluttered, my cheeks probably lit up. I was grateful I could blame it on the fever today.
McCarthy sighed. “It’ll just get your stomach working a little bit. No strong flavors, no smell,” he tried. I shook my head harder.
Balancing the plate in one hand, he reached out slowly, hesitantly tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind my ear. His thumb stroked my cheek. Just once—and there went my stomach again. If the food wouldn’t make me feel sick, he was well on his way to doing it himself with his nicknames and lingering touches. “You won’t feel sick, I promise.”
A promise from him meant more now than it had a few months ago.
Then, the idea of McCarthy nursing me back to health would’ve sounded like a nightmare. Now, I was quite glad he was here. Secretly.
So I listened. And I ate, even if it was just a few bites.
He made a joke about my compliance again. I scowledat him. He grinned back. And absolutely no one was around to see us.
When I woke from my prolonged couch nap, McCarthy was gone. My bed had fresh—matching—sheets, the window was open, and a sticky note hung on the vase of McCarthy’s flowers, most of them dried out by now.
I knew you liked them, it said. In the corner, he’d doodled a small rose.
Chapter 22
Unfortunately, with my fever dying down, I had no excuse to keep me from catching up on the classes I’d missed. Surprisingly, I’d been doing fine for the past hour. Like the model student Iobviouslywas, I sat in the living room trying to wrap my head around the material from the last Accounting lecture. Really! I was concentrated, focused, and motivated.
Until the doorbell rang, that is. I jumped off the couch, ran toward it, buzzed the door open, and didn’t even bother to ask who it was. Or care that I wasn’t wearing pants. The massive hoodie I’d found in my closet on a quest for a comfy study outfit covered enough.
All right, maybe I wasn’t quite as concentrated and motivated as I thought. But an hour of Accounting was enough. For now.
I flung the door open, and my smile didn’t even waver when McCarthy stepped out of the elevator. A paper bag dangled from his hand, and his brow wrinkled slightly when he saw me.
“You—?” He seemed confused, and I rolled my eyes behind the round glasses.
