I stare back into his dark eyes. "I'm too nervous to eat."
"You need to eat something."
"It's my body. Not yours."
"We'll do this downstairs." He scoops my laptop back into his arms and takes a step backward. "I'll heat up dinner."
"Brendon. I don't have time—"
"You have forty-five minutes. Go shower. Change into something comfortable. I'll have your food ready."
I glare at him.
He glares back.
"You really are bossy and annoying."
"You just figure that out?"
"I'm usually the one on your side when Emma complains about you."
"That's because you're not around me twenty-four seven. Give it a few more weeks. You'll get sick of me."
Fat chance. Being around him all the time only makes me want him more.
He's so close, but he's so far away too.
I hate him for bossing me around. So what if his intentions are good? Nobody tells me when to shower or eat. Especially not someone who's withholding the kinds of demands I want. "I'm only going along with this because you're holding my laptop hostage."
"Tell me something I don't know." He takes another step backward, into the hallway.
I follow. Watch him move downstairs and set up the dining table.
There's my laptop, closed, untouched.
This is the perfect chance to invade my privacy.
But he's keeping his eyes to himself.
I push the thought aside as I move into the bathroom. We need normal. And me telling him I've seen his sketchbook—not normal.
It's an excuse, sure, but it's true.
* * *
There's a plate next to my computer. An almond butter and jelly sandwich cut into tiny squares.
The perfect snack.
At least he's being...
Ugh, I hate him more for being sweet.
His eyes go to the timer on his cell. "Fifteen minutes."
Fifteen minutes until I set my fate for the semester.
That's nothing.