Page 18 of Please Open Me
My nose wrinkled at the juice, but she pushed it toward me, along with the bread, before taking a long sip of her own coffee.
“Drink the lemonade,” she ordered.
“I’d rather have matcha.”
She knew that. The banana matcha here was my favorite, even if it had a million calories and zero nutritional value.
“And I’d rather not give you caffeine right now.” She nudged the lemonade closer.
Begrudgingly, I picked it up. The drink was sour, sugary, and ice-cold. I didn’t like it, but it helped clear the fog in my head.
Mattie didn’t say anything right away. She was probably waiting for me to reflect on what I’d done, or some bullshit like that.
“Idideat this morning, by the way,” I added, picking at the bread.
“Yeah, no, I know you did.” Lean muscles twitched under her skin, causing the patchy tattoos on her arms to shift as she leaned back, draping one arm over the booth. “I watched you walk out of here with a muffin the size of your head.”
My cheeks warmed. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Mattie might watch me–she lived above the gym, after all—but still, I hadn’t thought she actually would.
“I didn’t eat the whole thing,” I lied, pushing the banana bread away.
As much as I wanted it, I had two photoshoots coming up: an album cover and a magazine feature. I was gettingsoclose to my pre-baby weight; I couldn’t screw it up now.
Mattie arched a brow and pushed the bread back.
“If you’re hungry, youneedto eat.”
“Iam.” I gestured toward the lemonade.
“That’s drinking.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, I picked at the bread, tearing it apart more so than eating it.
“You nearly passed out,” she said, suddenly serious. “I know you’ve had problems with eating disorders before. Are you–”
“No!” I shoved a chunk of bread in my mouth, almost choking in the process.
Mattie’s eyes widened, and her lips twitched like she wanted to laugh but didn’t. I swallowed hard, coughing, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“See? I’m not starving myself.” I tore off another piece and ate it more gracefully.
“I didn’t say you were,” she chuckled. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”
“We’ve only been dating for like... two months. That’s not enough time to worry about me.”
Why the fuck did I say that?
“Doyounot worry aboutme?” She placed a hand over mine, fingers walking up and down my arm.
My gaze dropped to the table. I stared at the woodgrain like it might give me an escape.
“No, I do,” I whispered. “But I’m a mom. It’s my job to worry about people.”
A crooked smile tugged at her lips. “That’s what girlfriends do, too.”
I shoved the rest of the bread in my mouth before I could say something else stupid.
Why couldn’t she just meet everyone?
