Covet by Tracey Garvis Graves Read Free Book Online Page B

inside before he walked back to his car. I would have let him. Even back then there was something solid, trustworthy, comforting about him. Or maybe I just liked the way he looked.
    He called the very next day and invited me to another movie the following Saturday, a matinee this time. “I thought we could have lunch first,” he said.
    “That would be great,” I said.
    He picked me up and thus began one of the best dates I ever had. It was one of those idyllic summer days where the humidity seemed to vanish and the temperature hovered at a perfect seventy-five degrees, so we sat at a sidewalk table at a small bistro and ordered Bloody Marys with our lunch. I didn’t often drink alcohol, but there were times when a drink sounded good and that day was one of them. I remember the way the vodka made me feel even more relaxed and carefree than I already did. Chris told me he hated olives and since I love them he laughed and popped his into my mouth, and all I could think about was the feel of his fingers as they touched my lips. When our food came we shared our entrees, feeding each other bites off our forks. To the casual observer, we probably looked like we’d been dating for a while. There were no awkward moments, and I felt instantly comfortable with him. We were having such a good time that we arrived at the movie—
Saving Private Ryan
—late, missing the previews and sliding into our seats just in time for the main feature.
    When the house lights came up Chris asked, “Do you want to get some dinner? You’re probably getting tired of me, but I’m hungry again and I thought you might be, too.”
    I looked at my watch. I didn’t wear an insulin pump back then, and I needed to check my blood sugar and give myself a shot before I could eat anything else. “Maybe some other time,” I said. He tried to hide it, but the surprise at being turned down when we were clearly having a great first date showed on his face. “It’s just that I have to go home,” I said. We walked silently to his car and he opened the door for me. When we reached my apartment and he walked me to the door, he made no move to leave. I unlocked it and he followed me down the short hallway and into the kitchen. I walked to the refrigerator and after I pulled out the bottle of insulin I filled a syringe, pulled up the hem of my skirt to expose my upper thigh, and plunged the needle in. Normally I hated giving myself a shot in front of anyone. People seemed to freak out about needles and it didn’t help that Logan used to refer to it as “Claire shooting up.” Chris watched, silently, his eyes lingering on the tan skin of my leg. I capped the syringe and threw it away, then looked up at him.
    “I have diabetes.”
    He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “I see that.” He looked confused, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was being so secretive. “Now what?” he asked.
    “Now I can go to dinner with you.”
    He smiled, his features instantly softening. “Then let’s go.”
    He took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine as we walked to a nearby diner. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to tell me?” he gently chided.
    “I didn’t want it to matter.” I told him about Logan and how I’d always felt that my diabetes bothered him. Like it was a burden. And even though it was way too early for what I was about to say, I said it anyway. “My disease has lifelong implications. Not everyone can handle that. Especially guys.”
    “Logan sounds like a tool. Taking care of you should have been his top priority.”
    I smiled at him, feeling sudden, inexplicable tears that I blinked back. “I can take care of myself,” I said, because I didn’t want him to think I was incapable of it. That I was some damsel in distress that needed rescuing. I just wanted him to know what he was up against.
    “I have no doubt that you can,” he said.
    And this time, after we finished dinner and he walked me home, he waited until I