Page 46 of Hate You Up Close

I need him to know that someone cares. Even if he doesn't remember this in the morning, I feel a dire need to ease the pain so evident in his gaze.

He swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing before he stuns me with the next string of words that leave his mouth.

“Can you stop?” he asks.

“Stop what?”

“Stop being so fucking nice to me,” he booms. “I don’t deserve it, especially from you. I’ve treated you like shit but yet, here you are. So damn perfect. So fucking infuriating and beautiful. Too good to be wasting your night on an asshole like me. I don’t deserve this.”

So damn perfect. So fucking infuriating and beautiful.

Those words do things to my insides…feelings that I force myself to push down. I know that Elliot wouldn't dare to say those things while sober, so I bask in his praise while I can.

“Well, despite what you deserve or don’t deserve, I believe in human decency. So, I’m going to make sure you don’t meet your deathbed tonight, and then we can go back to hating each other tomorrow,” I tease, arching a brow. “Do we have a deal?”

A hint of a smile graces his lips. God, I love his stupid smile.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he sighs while running a hand through his messy hair.

Five minutes later, we’re walking into my apartment with Elliot’s arm wrapped around my shoulder and mine circled around his waist. Once again, I wish I lived a few doors down, just so I could keep touching him a second longer.

“Home sweet home,” I exhale, shutting the door behind us and walking Elliot over to my velvet green couch.

“This is cute,” Elliot scoffs, his hazy eyes roaming around the small space. “If you were a mouse. How do you stand living here?”

I roll my eyes as he lowers his large body onto the couch, plopping down with a sigh.

“It’s perfect for just me,” I reply before blowing a strand of hair from my face. “Plus, you know how much I make,” I scoff. “It’s not like I can afford much better.”

“Well, you deserve a hell of a raise after tonight,” he mutters sheepishly.

“Great, I’ll definitely remind you of that in the morning when you’re hungover and pissed at the world again,” I quip.

He chuckles, bringing out the fine lines in the corner of his eyes.

“I’m serious, though,” he says in a soft tone. “The place is cute. Matches you perfectly.” I don’t miss the flirty smile that stretches across his lips.

“Wait…Are you calling me cute, Mr. Thompson?” I croon.

“I’ll be calling you a lot more than cute if you continue to call me Mr. Thompson,” he hums, arching a sexy brow.

Oh God.I need to make sure he doesn't look at me like that again, or else I might go into cardiac arrest.

“You’re drunk,” I roll my eyes, acting like my heart isn't flipping and flopping in my chest. “Let me make you something to eat before you pass out. Do you like peanut butter and jelly? I need to go grocery shopping and that's about all I have.”

“Who doesn't love a good ole PB&J?”

“Alright then,” I click my tongue and walk into the kitchen. “One gourmet sandwich coming up,” I bellow over my shoulder.

I spend the next five to ten minutes making us both a sandwich because Elliot’s looked too good to not make one for myself. I pour Elliot a large glass of ice water before grabbing a bottle of Ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. I balance the plate with both of our sandwiches on my forearm, carrying the water in one hand and the medicine in the other.

As I walk back into the living room, I notice that Elliot has grown eerily quiet since I left. Too quiet.

His large frame is nowhere in sight as I near the back of the couch. I round the corner to find him sprawled out on his back against the cushions, his head flopped back against the armrest.

Soft but cute snores lull from his parted lips. His long fingers rest against his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing.

He looks so peaceful. Too beautiful to even be real.