“Who else?” he asks. “Why the hell did you just throw a pillow at me?”
“I thought you were an intruder,” I tell him, slumping back down into bed when I feel my body give up on me. But I know exactly who I thought it was in my head. And the thought made my stomach churn. “I was defending myself,” I admit, pulling the covers over my body again.
He shoots me a glare, placing down a bowl on my nightstand. “With a pillow?”
“It was the only thing I had next to me.” My eyes drift down to his shirt, which is sopping wet with a big, ugly stain. Great, now I feel bad. I let out a sigh. “Take off your shirt.”
He freezes, turning to face me with wide eyes. “What?” He swallows.
Heat travels to my cheek when the implication dawns on me, and I shake my head. “To wash it,” I explain, pulling back the covers and… oh fuck, it’s cold. My body breaks out into a shiver when I feel the cold air hit my skin.
“Stop that. Get your ass back into bed,” he tells me, covering me with the blankets again. God, that feels so nice. “You’re going to get worse.”
“But your shirt—”
“Is fine,” he finishes, staring down at me. “You’re not.”
“I am.” My teeth chatter as I bury myself back in bed. “It’s just cold in here, that’s all,” I say, glancing at him.
“Right. That must be it.” Sarcasm drips from him as he picks up the bowl from my nightstand and hands it to me. “Here,” he says, placing the hot bowl in my hands. “Eat this.”
“But your shirt is—”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” He steps back and pulls his hoodie over his head. My eyes widen for a second, and they drift down to where a slither of his stomach is exposed when the black t-shirt he has on underneath lifts, showing the chiseled cut of his abs. Five, six, seven… do they ever end? “Are you happy now?” My eyes snap back to his face and I feel my face heating from the realization that I was ogling him. “I’ll take care of it when I get home.” He sits beside me on the bed, glancing down at the bowl. “Now eat.”
I follow his gaze, looking down at the bowl in my hands. “Chicken soup?”
“Yeah,” he says, scooching closer to me. “Or as my mom calls it,Canja de galinha. My mom used to make it for me and my sister whenever we got sick. It always made me feel better, I thought it might do the same for you.”
I roll my eyes. “But I’m not—”
“If you deny being sick one more time…” He shakes his head. “What is it with you and wanting to be perfect all of the damn time?” he asks. “Hair never out of place, makeup always on, nails done, outfit perfectly matched.” A harsh breath escapes his lips. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”
I press my lips together, frowning at the accusation. I guess it’s just something I’ve been doing for so long, it’s become like second nature to me. “I don’t look perfect right now.” I’m guessing I look like a mess. My hair feels heavy and tight, my skin is clammy, and my body… ugh, I don’t even want to think of what I look like.
But you’d never know with the way Lucas is looking at me. His jaw clenches as he scans my face, landing on my eyes. “You’re pretty damn close.”
My heart beats faster, and I force myself to look down at the soup. I pick up the spoon and dig in, the small pieces of pasta and chicken floating around in the broth as I bring it to my mouth. Damn, it’s so good. I glance up at him, seeing him look at me, and I think back to what he said.
“I don’t have any memories before I was adopted,” I tell him, watching as his forehead creases with a frown. “I don’t remember my birth parents, not even a flash of a memory. All I’ve ever known are my parents.” I sigh. “I look just like my mom,” I say with a laugh. “I know that’s not possible, but it’s true. I have her hair, her nose, even her lips. I didn’t even know I was adopted until they told me.”
I shake my head, my nose tingling with the urge to cry. “I was young when they told me, but after that, everything changed for me.” I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “Once I knew that my birth parents had given me away and didn’t want me anymore, I thought the same thing would happen with them,” I admit. “I tried my hardest to be the perfect daughter. I guess I didn’t want to give them a reason not to want me either.” I blink away the wetness building in my eyes, letting out a strained laugh. “I don’t even know why I care that my birth parents didn’t want me when I have an amazing family. They chose me, they wanted me, but…”
“It still hurts,” he guesses.
I nod, pressing my lips together to keep myself from crying. “Yeah, it really fucking does.”
He’s quiet for a minute, and then he shakes his head. “Your birth parents are fucking idiots.” Our eyes lock, and I’m sunken into his gaze, his golden brown eyes flickering. “I met you a month ago, and I hate the thought of letting you go once this ends.”
My body breaks out into shivers again, but it’s not the cold weather or my fever. It’s the way he looks at me. It’s the words he’s saying and how it affects me. And I hate it. I hate that I don’t hate it. I look down at the bowl again, swallowing the lump in my throat. “What are you doing here?” I ask, having another spoonful. “It’s late.” I don’t even know how long I slept, but the dark sky gives me an inkling that it’s been a long time.
He tilts his head. “You don’t remember asking me to stay?”
My brows tug together. “I did?”
“Madeline.” He smirks. “You practically begged me to.”
My mouth gapes open. “I did not.”
