His eyes narrow as my best friend inches toward me. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of Sweden.”
“Okay, Ares.” I turn away, wincing at the snipe though there are worse things I can call my best friend than my youngest brother. “I’m fine.”
He dodges an elderly couple manoeuvring a cart with a squeaky wheel. “Sure you are.” He falls into step beside me like he’s used to chasing me down. “So. Who pissed in your cereal? Or was it sex? It looks like sex.” He reaches a hand to my hair and gives my loose, shaggy locks a ruffle with his splayed palm.
My whole body locks up. Heat flashes up my neck.
He notices. Of course he does. “Oh shit. Itwassex.”
I slow my breathing, scrambling with both hands to find some of the composure I’m renowned for, but it’s nowhere to be found. “It wasn’t anything.” I grit the words out around my tightening throat. Because it might have been everything.
Scott whistles low. “You haven’t had that particular brand of post-coital trauma face since?—”
“Don’t.”
“Nah, Claudia didn’t even leave you looking like this, man.” He’s not scared of me, and he’s not pushing to be a dick, it’s because he cares. That almost makes it worse. I’d rather he rib me over getting laid because it’s what we do, not because he’s concerned.
Not to mention, Claudia was just messy. This is catastrophic.
We stand in front of the refrigerated section. My reflection in the glass looks… wrong. Face too flushed, eyes too bright, and my mouth swollen. I look like someone who’s been kissed within an inch of their sanity.
Not wrong. I look ruined. I think I am. Worse still—I look satisfied. I most definitely am.
Scott bumps my shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“You need to?”
Absolutely not. Yes. I don’t know. Do I? Shit. I might. I rub the back of my neck which prompts a nod from my best friend.
I exhale through my teeth. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
Scott lifts a brow. “Did you hurt someone?”
“No.”
“Did someone hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the issue?” Sometimes I wish things could be as simple as Scott makes them out to be.
My throat tightens. I look away. “I wasn’t supposed to want it.”
Scott stares. Genuinely stunned. “Oh. Oh—shit. You didn’t?”
I blink.
“It washim, wasn’t it?” His jaw drops. “You slept with the enemy.” His dramatic whisper is designed to make me laugh, or at least smile, but my stomach sinks even lower because he’s not wrong.
My silence answers.
He lets out a long sigh. It’s not judgy. It’s concerned. Gentle. Too goddamn gentle. I hate fucking gentle. I don’t know what to do with it. It pokes at places I keep locked down. Places that don’t feel quite so locked down right now.
“Well.” Scott’s voice is low. “Not going to say I told you so.” He steps back when my head snaps up. “But I’m still not on board with this, Cap.”
It’s weird hearing him call me Cap when we all calledApollo that for so long first. But not as weird as not having my best friend’s support over something that could well be important to me.
