Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2) - Alisha Rai Page 0,90
I can avoid it.” Can’t control others.
He motioned her into his room. She flushed at the sight of the bed where they’d slept last night.
She sat down on it gingerly and drew her knees up. He went into the bathroom and closed the door for a few minutes, then opened it again. He wore only a pair of those sweatpants she’d drooled over this morning.
Her misgivings and dismay flew out of her head. Had gray joggers always been the sexiest article of clothing a man could own, or had that happened recently?
He brushed his teeth and washed his face and she scooted back on the bed, fascinated. He had his own routine, only his was much more economical than her fifteen-step program. Such a mundane thing, to watch someone ready themselves for bed, yet so intimate. Especially when they were in those joggers. Those low-slung, drawstring-tied, easy to remove . . .
Katrina released the breath she was holding and fanned herself. She needed a distraction from those sweats. “What’s your favorite food?”
“What?”
“Your favorite food. Like if you could have anything in the world for breakfast tomorrow, what would it be?”
He pulled out his floss. His biceps flexed when he lifted it to his mouth. Who knew good dental hygiene could be such a turn-on? “I like everything you make.”
“But what’s your favorite?” she insisted.
He finished flossing, and came out of the bathroom. “I don’t have a favorite.”
“Everybody has a favorite dish. What’s the breakfast you used to eat the most as a kid, the one that makes you feel all warm and squishy inside when you think about it?”
“I was never actually much of a breakfast eater.”
She stared at him. “You eat it every day when I make it for you.”
“Because you make it for me.”
Holy shit. “So let me get this straight: you don’t even like breakfast, but for the last nine years, you’ve eaten whatever I make for you, every morning, instead of just telling me you don’t care for the meal?”
Jas leaned against the armchair facing the bed. “I appreciate you cooking it, and it is an important meal. I’m happy to eat it.”
She gave a half laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t see what the problem is.”
“The problem—” she cut herself off when he rubbed the back of his neck. A rare show of exhaustion on his part.
Another shot of guilt. She should drop this. It wasn’t that important, right?
Except as a symptom of a deeper problem. This should be an easy question, one she didn’t have to badger him into answering. “Name one dish you actually like.”
He was silent for a moment. “I like your waffles.”
“The sourdough waffles?” She perked up. “Those are my favorites, too.”
“I know. You’re happiest when you can use that starter.”
Her smile faded. He liked the waffles, at least partially, because she enjoyed making them. It was sweet and selfless, and still he was holding himself away from her.
“Is something wrong?” He rolled his shoulders, and she shook her head, burying her misgivings. It sounded so foolish to complain that he was too nice, yes?
“No.” She scooted over on the bed. “Do you want to come sit here?”
His quickness in complying eased her worries a little.
They sat side by side for a couple moments. His hand slid over her thigh and squeezed, sending tingles of happiness through her body. “Thank you for being there tonight. I’m sorry you had to see this family drama.”
“Oh no.” Never let him think she didn’t appreciate learning stuff about him. “I’m glad I could be there. It would have been a shame for you all to have an irreparable rift between you. Grandparents like that don’t fall from trees.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Do you know your grandparents?”
“Not on my dad’s side. My mom was born in America, but her parents returned to Thailand when she was in college. I met them twice, but I was too young to remember it. After she died, my dad blocked them from contacting me.” Her smile was bittersweet, the same mix of anger and aching tenderness she’d felt when she’d found out what her dad had done. “I found letters my grandmother had sent me. Birthday cards with money still tucked in them. By the time I realized they had tried to see me, it was too late, they were already gone. If I’d had the courage to buck my dad a few years earlier . . .” She trailed off, her inner-therapist-trained counterthinking kicking in. “Well.