Public Relations

"How's that McFlurry?"

August glances at me from the corner of his eye, his mouth half-full, cheek bulging to the side like a chipmunk. I'm sitting at the other end of his kitchen table, feet tucked beneath me, watching as he works through his Oreo McFlurry at an annoyingly slow pace—the one he swore he didn't want, but I ordered for him anyway.

"S'alright," he mumbles around a mouth full. "Didn't really want one."

"Really? Because," I lean over the table, peeking into his cup, "it looks like you've just about polished it off."

He chews, then swallows hard. My eyes narrow at him when he scoops another bite into his mouth. There's something in his eyes I can't quite place—hesitancy, apprehension, impatience, maybe. I'm not entirely sure.

But if I'm being honest, I'm a little confused. Part of me expected him to kiss me senseless the second we pulled up to his house—press me up against the front door, lift me onto the kitchen counter. Every time we've been alone since agreeing to this arrangement, he hasn't hesitated—not once—to kiss me, to touch me.

But tonight, August simply just parked my car in his driveway, unlocked the front door for me, and toed off his shoes, neatly lining mine alongside his by the entryway. Then he sat at the far end of the kitchen table, eating his McDonald's in silence.

I know dinner probably wasn't what he'd expected—my dad not showing up, those pictures of his family, letting him see a part of me I've never shown anyone before. And then the argument in the car.

But still—I thought he'd at least kiss me.

Especially after he said, For as long as you want me, I'm yours.

Well, I want him. I don't think I've ever wanted August Williams more than I do right now. I want him to kiss me until I can't breathe. Until nothing else exists but him.

But maybe I'm wrong, I think to myself. Maybe I'm reading this all wrong, and he's thinking I'm just... too much now.

I bite down on the corner of my lip, glancing out the kitchen window that's propped open, trying to shake the thoughts loose. I know I'm overthinking—this whole trial period was his idea, after all. I don't have the luxury of spiraling over this; I'm on borrowed time, and it's slipping away faster than I can hold onto it. And with less than a week left together, I intend to make the most of it.

I take a deep breath, the salt air from the ocean drifting in through the window, steeling myself before turning back to him. I wait patiently as he finishes chewing his McFlurry. My patience, however, wears thin the moment he takes another spoonful.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "August."

"What?" he mumbles.

"In the nine years I've known you, I don't think I've ever seen you like McDonald's as much as you do right now," I huff, tilting my head back at the ceiling. "You normally give me a speech about high sodium intake."