Page 119 of Pretend You Love Me

As soon as she says meatballs again, my eyes start to water.Oh god, there’s no stopping this. I wave my hand in the air and say, “That’s fine” as I rush out of the room.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time. As soon as I reach the toilet, I throw up four times in a row. When I’m finished, I rest my forehead on the toilet seat and groan. My hands are shaking as I wash them and wash off my face. I’ve thrown up every day for the past two months, but it’s not getting any easier.

When I open the door, Kip is standing right outside. I clutch my chest and jump. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing?”

“Are you sick?” His face is full of worry.

“No.”

“It sounded like you were throwing up.”Shit.

“Why are you listening outside the bathroom? That’s weird and creepy.” I’m trying to slip past him.So much for ignoring him.

“I thought you were sick. I wanted to check on you.” He blocks my path.

“Well, I’m not.” I put my hands on my hips. “Why are you here, Kip?”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Will told me you wanted me here.”

“I don’t.” I scowl at him.

“I see that.” He looks hurt. There’s a tiny part of me that feels bad, but then I remember what a dick he was last time I saw him, and the feeling evaporates.

Neither of us speaks. I’m so mad at him. I’m so mad at Will. I keep playing all the horrible things Kip said to me last time we saw each other on a loop in my head, and I’m growing more and more irate.

“Can we talk?” His voice is barely a whisper.

“No.” I take a big step around him. He grabs my wrist.

“We need to talk,” he growls.

“There’s nothing that you’re going to say that I want to hear.” I try to jerk my arm away from him, but he doesn’t let go.

“Please,” he pleads.

“Are you wanting an update on Craig?” I spit out.

He flinches.

I lean into him. “Do you want to know if I bent over in the shower for him?”

Kip’s grip tightens. “Brooklyn...please.”

“Did I take him in my mouth in the kitchen?”

He’s shaking his head.

“Did I scream out his name when he buried his face between my thighs?”

“Brooklyn...”

“Is he bigger than you?”

All the color has drained from his face.

“I’ll answer the last one. Yes, he is. He’s a lot bigger.” That was unnecessary, but he deserves it. It’s hit a nerve too. He looks like he might throw up. Good. I’d love for him to feel as bad as I do. I jerk my arm one more time. He lets it go.

“Anything else you want to know?” I say sweetly.