Page 76 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“It…was a reminder I didn’t want anymore.

” His voice is only a breath above a whisper now, and I can tell it’s taking immense effort on his part to hold my gaze.

He wants to look away so badly, his shame rising to the surface, but to his credit, he doesn’t.

“Truthfully, I should’ve done it a long time ago. ”

The air catches in my chest at his words, and I open my mouth to say something, even though I don’t have the first clue what to say or what to think. Damian cuts me off before I can utter anything more than an incomprehensible squeak.

“I know this doesn’t erase what I did, but after what happened the other day…” Now, he does look away, his face visibly flustered. He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling the thick strands. “I thought maybe this would make it clear how much I wanted that redo, too.”

I gape at him, not quite sure what to make of this confession.

Is this his way of saying thank you for forgiving him, or is he under the misguided assumption that there’s still a chance I haven’t?

To be fair, it’s not like I’ve come right out and said it, but I thought it was obvious I have. That I do.

I do forgive him.

I’m about to tell him so when his eyes veer over my shoulder, looking past me at something in the distance. “I think you’re wanted inside.”

“I…what?”

He jerks his chin ever so slightly in the direction of the house behind me. “Your mom and aunt are watching us from the window.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, turning my head to see if he’s telling the truth or if he’s messing with me, which honestly wouldn’t surprise me.

But sure enough, Mom and Gina are spying on our conversation from the front window, the curtains now thrust aside.

God, they aren’t even making an effort to hide it.

“Wait, I think Gina is mouthing something…” Damian squints. “‘Kiss…him’? Oh, well, if she insists, then you should definitely do that.” Winking at me, he puckers his lips.

“No, she is not!” I gasp, half out of embarrassment that my mom and aunt are watching this happen and half laughing at the stupid kissing face he’s making.

Damian barks out a laugh. “I’m joking, Dornan. Though, judging from your reaction, I’m guessing this means a rain check on that goodbye smooch.”

My face burns again, and the gleeful look in his eyes tells me I am probably as red as a tomato. “I…yeah.” I don’t need to give my mom and Gina any ammunition when I’m sure they already have an entire arsenal of questions.

My stomach dips, and it dawns on me that I’m…

disappointed. I want to kiss Damian, and not because of this chemical attraction between us, or as a precursor to sex, but because I simply want to be close to him in that way.

Because his goofy, stupid face makes my chest feel light, and I don’t want that horrible weight from before to come creeping back in.

“You know,” he croons, stepping forward to tuck a rogue curl behind my ear. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, Blondie.”

I snort. “What? I’m not?—”

“Liar.” He flashes a coy smile at me, and before I can protest any further, he opens the door to the silver Audi and slides into the driver’s seat with a wave.

I stand on the sidewalk for a tragically long time after Damian drives away, the image of his face in the rear-view mirror—shrinking the farther he got from me—burned into my mind like a bad memory.

It’s another long moment before I remember my mom and aunt watching me from the window, and the hair on the back of my neck rises as I turn and retrace my steps up the path.

My eyes drift to the large glass panes, but my nosy relations have vanished from view.

Still, though I can’t see them to gauge their expressions, I’m aware of what’s coming.

Sure enough, the second I step back inside the house, they are both on top of me like Ronnie on a free samples table. They corner me against the closed front door.

“All right, spill,” my aunt demands at the same time my mom says, “What was that, Lex?”

“Damian.” I give a little nonchalant shrug as if that answer alone explains everything. “He’s a…friend.”

My mom scoffs. “A friend who just so happens to be a billionaire. Oh, and also your boyfriend, apparently ?”

I can practically feel the color leach from my cheeks. “What?”

My aunt puts her hands on her hips. “Navarro? As in Hallazgo Pharmaceuticals?” When I stare blankly at her, she rolls her eyes. “Lexi, I work in a hospital,” she reminds me. “Don’t you think I know where we get our drugs from?”

My mom bobs her head in agreement. “All we had to do was Google his name, and you were one of the first results to come up. Along with some other interesting information I’d really like some clarity on.

” Despite her tone, her expression is calm.

Too calm. The kind of calm that comes right before a storm I’m absolutely not prepared for.

“You know,” my aunt muses, rubbing her chin, “I knew he looked familiar that first day he came here.”

I glance at Gina, surprised by this revelation.

The only reason I didn’t panic when she met Damian that day we went shopping in September was because I was certain there was no way for her to know who he is.

He never told her his last name, she doesn’t give a single flying fuck about celebrities or public figures, and she’s not on social media where she might stumble across him by accident—simply because she doesn’t like to waste what precious little free time she has doomscrolling.

My aunt must gather where my thought process is going because she lets out a tight, mirthless laugh.

“Girl, I might not give two shits about celebrity gossip, but the waiting rooms at the hospital are quite literally littered with magazines. I obviously don’t stop to read them, but I have, on occasion, seen the covers. ”

“They have them in the infusion room, too,” my mom points out. “And unlike my sister, I do, on occasion, partake of the gossip.”

I balk, gaping at my mother as if I’ve never seen her before. Since when does she read tabloids?

“But I… I didn’t…”

“Think we’d find out? Christ, Lex, we don’t live under a rock.

” Her expression warps then, and her eyes lock on mine with an intensity that seems so at odds with the otherwise frail condition of her body.

“Is this how you’ve been getting the money for my treatment?

” She exhales an incredulous breath, like she can’t believe she didn’t put it together sooner.

“I knew something felt off about the whole charity thing, but I couldn’t fathom why you would lie about it, so I didn’t press the issue.

But if you’re getting money from this boy, I’d like to know.

Now . And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me about this bet that keeps popping up when I Google your ‘friend.’”

The look on my mom’s face is all it takes for me to crack—the stern scolding in her eyes mixed with a very clear concern.

I’ve been holding in so many lies these last three months, I feel ready to explode.

So, I do. I let the words erupt out of me like an exponential equation on steroids; they spill over so quickly I can’t rein them in, with no upper limit to how much I seem able to say.

And there isn’t one. I tell them everything, even that Damian and I have been sleeping together, though I make it a point to spare them the gruesome details.

I tell them about the bet (minus the very public library sex), about the Craigslist ad, about how I exhausted literally every other option before answering it.

I tell them about our fake dates and the trip to Guadalajara.

“You left the country without telling me?” my mom had shrieked, but it was hard to say if she was more angry or shocked that I did something so obviously out of my comfort zone.

Thankfully, the topic of me crossing the border without my immediate family’s awareness was put to rest when I followed it up with the story about Damian’s brother and the resulting situation with his parents.

I don’t tell them about what happened in the library on Wednesday, certain that would be a step too far (and something tells me my mom wouldn’t exactly see eye to eye with me regarding my logic on that one), but I do tell them about Damian’s car.

Mason’s car. And about what it means to me that he chose to return it.

“We need to pay him back,” my mom mutters in a daze the moment I’ve finally stopped talking.

We’ve settled back in the living room. This time, Mom takes a seat next to me on the sofa, while Gina sits ram-rod straight in the armchair, hanging onto our every word.

“And you can’t accept any more money from him,” Mom adds with a warning glare at me.

“I won’t agree to that,” I say, as calmly as I can manage.

“You need it. That’s why I made the agreement with him in the first place.

With respect, fuck your ‘alternative to continuing treatment,’” I air-quote when she starts to protest, reminding her what she said when the insurance first pulled their cover for her meds.

“That isn’t the solution, Mom. But this is.

Trust me, if I had another option, I would take it, but I don’t.

And I refuse to feel guilty about that. Besides, this arrangement is mutually beneficial.

I help Damian with his parents, he pays me, and you get your prescription.

” At my mom’s perturbed expression, I double down.

“We need this. You need this. I can’t end it. I won’t.”

And Damian still needs this, too. I can’t back out on this agreement, not just because of my mom, but because I can’t do that to him. As much as I need his help, he also needs mine, and despite the way things started between us, I want to give it to him now.

Mom’s face crumples, and for a moment, I think she might cry. “Oh, honey. This shouldn’t be your burden to bear.”

Gina’s face is drawn, and I can tell she wants to agree with my mom, but can’t bring herself to because she knows I’m right.

Without this agreement, without this money, Mom never would’ve been able to carry on with her chemo, and if she hadn’t continued her treatment, there’s only one way this would’ve ended.

“But it is,” I tell her, taking her hands in mine. “And I won’t apologize for doing whatever it takes to help you.”

Mom’s gaze turns watery, and she sniffs. “I don’t like feeling like a charity case, Lex.”

“But you aren’t,” I assure her. “Damian doesn’t know about your cancer or what I’m using the money for.” At my mom and aunt’s pointed glances, I explain with an embarrassed grimace, “He thinks I’ve been using the money for cosplay.”

My aunt’s coarse laugh is so loud I’m tempted to cover my ears. “Cosplay?” she sputters, now fully snort-laughing. “As what? The world’s worst liar?”

“Lex, come on,” my mom chides, rolling her eyes at her younger sister. “If he didn’t already know the truth, I think it’s safe to say he does now.”

She gestures to herself, and my heart breaks a little at the realization that she sees what I see. How I wish the mirrors she looks in would lie so she can at least pretend to feel strong.

A lump swells in my throat. “It doesn’t matter.” Except, it does. It matters to me . But I need her to believe it doesn’t, to believe everything will be okay. I need her to believe it as much as I need to convince myself.

My mom’s weak grasp tightens on my hand. “It does,” she insists. “But not because of me, because of you . You’re playing a dangerous game, mixing money with emotions this way…” She shakes her head. “It’s only going to end with one or both of you hurt.”

I bristle. “Why would it? Yeah, we’re sleeping together, but we aren’t actually dating. We’re just…friends,” I remind her, even though that doesn’t feel like remotely the right word to describe us. “There aren’t any feelings involved.”

Liar, my conscience growls, but I push its voice down deep, to the dark space in the back of my head where I can’t hear it. In its place, however, I notice another voice, louder and much closer to home.

“Does he know that?” my aunt challenges.

I glare at her across the wooden coffee table. “What?”

She arches a cynical brow. “Girl, I just sat with that boy for two hours talking about you . And Twilight , of course. But mostly you.” She shakes her head, and I don’t miss the worry in her eyes.

The shades of silent disbelief. “I know you struggle sometimes with social cues, Lex, but I can’t help thinking you’re being willfully blind if you can’t see what that means. ”

“What Gina is trying to say,” my mom cuts in, “is that you claim this thing between you two isn’t real, but that’s not what it looks like to us. And I don’t think it feels that way to him.”

Her words hang in the hush that follows, and in that quiet, I hear that distant, chastising voice surfacing from the back of my head. This time, however, instead of scolding me, it asks a simple question.

What does it feel like to you?