Page 41 of Forked (Frenched 2)
When I spoke, my tone was harsher than I intended. “It just is. I’m sure you’re used to getting exactly what you want from people these days, but I can’t offer you anything more than this. Take it or leave it.”
I went to walk out of the bathroom, but he grabbed my arm. “Hey. Don’t get mad. I’ll take it, OK?” Then the asshole lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I’ll take it.”
We dressed in silence. I chose one of my sundresses, gray cotton eyelet with a full skirt and camisole straps, while Nick put on jeans and a red t- shirt. While he frosted the cake downstairs, I blew out my hair and put it up into a ponytail since I wanted to take my convertible. I went light on the makeup and repacked everything I’d taken out of my suitcase. Sinking down on the bed to buckle my red sandals, I looked around, wondering if it was the last time I’d ever see this bedroom. It seemed likely, unless I reconsidered my position, which I wasn’t prepared to do. Running my hand over the spread, I wondered who the next girl would be to sleep in this bed. The thought hit me like a jab to the gut.
I felt nauseated for a minute, until I reminded myself that in less than an hour I’d be walking through the front door of my dream house—I didn’t need to get sad about not being in this room again. Soon I’d have more rooms than I’d know what to do with, and they’d all need my time and attention. There would be no sitting around moping about Nick, his bedroom, or his bedmates.
The house, the house, the house.
I’d think about that. I’d be happy about that.
Bounding down the steps, I resolved to be in a better mood. I crossed the room, set my suitcase by the door, and smiled at Nick, who was just putting the white-frosted cake into a small cooler. “That looks good.”
“Thanks. Hope it travels OK.” He snapped the lid in place and looked at me. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you. Ready to go?”
“Yes. Let me throw a couple things in a bag, and we’re off.”
While he was upstairs, I put away the Scrabble game, rinsed the breakfast dishes and utensils he’d used frosting the cake, and put them all in the dishwasher. I was just turning it on when he came down, a small duffel bag over one shoulder.
He took the cooler from the island, tucking it under one arm. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do, since you cooked breakfast for me.”
He switched off all the lights and dug his keys from his pocket. “That was my pleasure, as is seeing you in my kitchen. I love how domestic you are now. Shall we go?”
I nodded, walking briskly, picking up my suitcase and vowing not to look back at Nick’s apartment before the door slammed behind me.
“Hey, this is fun, going on a little trip like this,” Nick said, following me down the hall. “It’s like we’re married or something.”
I shot him a murderous look over one shoulder, wishing he didn’t look so hot in those aviator sunglasses.
“Can I carry your suitcase for you, honey?”
“No. I’ve got it, thanks.” Eyes ahead, I strode toward the elevators.
An older woman got on the elevator at the tenth floor and smiled at us. “What a beautiful couple you are.”
“Thanks,” Nick said at the exact same time I said, “We’re not a couple.”
We glared at each other, and the woman remained silent the rest of the way down.
#
“I thought it might be fun to take my car,” I suggested as we entered the parking garage.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s a convertible. Don’t you think that would be fun?”
He looked at me. “My truck wouldn’t be fun?”
“Your what?” I squawked. “I mean…what do
you drive now, another truck?” I tried not to sound snotty about it. Lots of trucks were perfectly nice.
“You know. My pickup. Still got plenty of good years left.”
