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I glance at him quickly. “You did?”
He nods.
Aw shucks. Why does this make me happy?
“And?”
“You’re funny.”
“Didn’t you know that?” I’m ridiculous. This is ridiculous. Who cares if he stalked me on my social media? “Did you also check my Twitter?”
His mouth twitches. “Your profile pic is a cat with a mustache.”
Yep. “And on Instagram?”
“A socked foot. Why…?” He snorts. “Why did you put a socked foot?”
“It’s my socked foot. Kinda like your drawings: parts of things, hinting at the whole.”
He really did check. He’s not making it up.
And I shouldn’t get so excited about it, but hey. Would he check up on a girl he only wanted to bang and leave?
I rest my case.
“You said you’re visiting your sister. I saw a pic of her. Her smile is like yours.” He shakes his head. “But yours is much prettier.”
Oh God. There’s a lot of squeezing going on in my head. In my chest. But if I tackle-hug him, we’ll probably both die in a horrible accident. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” His gaze is laser-hot again, directed at me. One side of his mouth curls up. “I sure as hell do.”
My heart is thudding. He told me he found me pretty before, but that was different. That was when he was trying to get into my pants—not that I didn’t want it, too—and while he did dirty things to me.
This feels… more real somehow.
Eyes on the road, Kay.
“My family’s boring.” I roll one shoulder in a shrug as I overtake a car. “My parents live in the outskirts of Chicago, with my little brother, who’s turning seventeen next month. My parents hate each other, but won’t divorce because hey, what will the neighbors say? And my sister lives in Milwaukee with a boyfriend who’s a cheater and an a-hole because of what my parents will say. And it all sucks, but it’s not so bad.”
As I’ve come to realize. When compared to your family.
“It makes you sad,” he says in that quiet, raspy voice of his.
“It tells me love isn’t real. That relationships never work out. That they’re not worth the pain.”
And I don’t know why I’m telling him this, especially since he’s got me all confused and God, I’d give it a shot if he asked me to. I’d give love a shot.
I’m going out of my mind.
He takes a deep breath and presses a hand to his ribcage. I want to ask him how he’s managing the pain, how he’s been, but I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to say something.
“My mom,” he says after a few beats, “has lupus.”
Lupus. My mind freezes as I try to dig up anything I know about the disease. “Light sensitivity?”
“Autoimmune disease. It attacks the organs. It’s serious.” His voice is like gravel. “That’s what the doctor thinks she has. They did some tests this week. It fits in with the depression bouts she’s had for years.”
I swallow hard and reach blindly for his hand. I wrap my fingers around his bigger ones. “I’m so sorry. But treatment is good nowadays, right?”
