Laughter bursts from me. “You better not be using my toothbrush.”
“There was a spare in the cabinet.”
A few seconds later, I see the flicking of the light once, twice, three times before he climbs into bed with me.
“Better?” I press my lips together.
He rolls his eyes. “Laugh it up.”
When my smile dies, we lay there silent, facing the other on our pillows.
“Why did you come here? I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No, you aren’t.” His voice is wary, as is his stare, he’s exhausted.
“So, are you going to answer the question?”
“No.”
Up close, I take in the slight wave of his damp hair, his thick midnight black lashes, the smooth planes of his face, his mouth. His top lip a more masculine cupid’s bow, slightly smaller than the bottom. He returns my stare, his eyes roaming my face, and equally as probing.
I’m the first to speak.
“What’s your game?”
He fires right back. “What’s yours?”
We lay there, silent, eyes challenging.
“I won’t ever be able to believe a word you say, Tobias.”
&n
bsp; “I don’t expect you to.”
“So why bother, after treating me like total shit, you suddenly have a conscience? Suddenly I’m worthy of,” I wave my hand around, “whatever the hell you’re doing?”
“Treating you with respect? Like I’ve wronged you. Like I’ve mistreated you horribly and I’m apologizing for it? I’m not a monster, Cecelia.”
“Debatable.”
He sighs. “As I said, I don’t expect you to believe me.”
“I don’t, and I won’t.”
His eyes dart past my shoulder, a deep line forming between his brows.
“Are you okay?”
He focuses back on me.
“Te soucies-tu vraiment de moi?” Do you really care about me?
“Tobias, I’m not fluent.”
He clears his throat, but the question seems to pain him. “Do you really care?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”