I close my eyes briefly.
“I won’t ever run again,” he says, almost to himself.
I believe him.
We lie here another minute before reality intrudes properly.
“You need to shower,” he says lightly, glancing at the sheets.
“So do you.”
He snorts.
We untangle slowly this time. As he sits up, the light catches the tattoo along his hip again, and something tightens low in my stomach despite everything we just did.
He notices.
“See something you like?” He smirks.
“I’m just appreciating the art.”
“Appreciate it in the shower.” He arches his brow before sliding off the bed, giving me a fucking incredible view of his ass.
I watch him disappear into the bathroom, and for a moment, I just sit here, bare and grinning like an idiot.
Tomorrow he flies back to Minnesota. In a week, I’ll follow. Maybe I’ll stay for a while.
We’re not promising forever tonight, but we’re not postponing it either.
And that feels like something solid enough to stand on.
Unable to control my grin, or how my cock is trying valiantly to get hard, I follow him into the bathroom, making sure to pick up the bottle of lube I slipped into my bag.
17
OLLIE
The first thingI notice when the car turns onto my street is the color.
Rainbow flags.
Not one or two but a cluster. Some big, some small. One wrapped around someone’s shoulders like a cape. Someone else has face paint. Another holds up a handmade sign that saysWe love you, Captainin thick, messy letters.
My chest loosens before I even realize it was tight.
“Looks like your welcome committee,” the driver says.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I expect.
Behind them, though, are the press. Cameras. Boom mics. Phones raised like weapons. The usual.
The driver slows. “You want me to pull up close?”
“Please.”
He does. I take a breath, steadying myself before I open the door. The noise hits immediately.
“Ollie! Ollie, are you and Rafe Ortiz in a relationship?”
