Page 123 of Twisted Needs

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not strangers.”

“I know.”

Lee folds their arms. “He isn’t the kind of person you should casually be sleeping with.”

I sit up straighter without meaning to, like my body physically reacts to hearing him criticized. “He’s not trying to hold me back.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“He’s never done that.”

Because all I can think about is Parker standing in the kitchen half-asleep making tea for me before class. The way he’s always kept migraine medication around the house because I always lose it. The way he touches the back of my neck when I’m overwhelmed.

That’s the man they’re talking about. That’s the man they’re reducing to a list of red flags. They don’t know him like I do. That’s the fucking problem. No one knows my Parker.

I stare at the table. My hands. At the condensation gathering beneath my glass. “I can’t do this.” My chair scrapes violently against the floor as I stand.

“Anders—”

“No.” Heat rushes through my body so fast it makes me dizzy. “What did you want me to say?” I ask. “That you’re right? That I’m some traumatized idiot getting groomed by the first older man who paid attention to me?” Neither of them answer, which somehow feels like enough of an answer on its own. “I know how it sounds.” My voice cracks slightly. “I know.” I swallow hard. “I just need you to stop talking about him like he’s some monster.”

“We don’t think he’s a monster,” Lee says carefully.

I nod. Even though I don’t believe them.

“Maybe this crashes and burns eventually.” The words come easier now. Because they’re true. “Maybe it’s unhealthy. Maybe it’s complicated and weird and every bad thing you think it is.” I shrug. Weakly and hopelessly. “I still want him.” The honesty hangs between us, feeling ugly and exposed and rubbed completely raw. “So I don’t really know what you want me to do with that.”

CHAPTER 33

IT MATTERS TO ME

PARKER

The house is quiet when I step inside. Warm, but just so lived in. After years of coming home to an empty house, nothing feels better.

Anders is sitting in the recliner by the window with a notebook propped against his knee. He’s wearing one of my hoodies. Sleeves pulled over his hands. Bare legs tucked beneath him sideways in the chair. Pen tapping absently against the page while he stares down at whatever he’s writing.

Anders looks up the second he hears the door shut, his entire face changing. “Hey,” he says quietly.

The sound of his voice after a week away hits me square in the chest.

I drop my bag beside the door. “Come here,” I murmur automatically, but before he can even move, I’m already crossing the room toward him. I crouch beside the recliner and take his hand before I can stop myself, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. I rest my forehead lightly against his knee and close my eyes for half a second. “Missed you,” I admit quietly. The words come out rougher than intended, like I’ve been holding them in too long.

Anders’ fingers slide into my hair. “Missed you too.”

There’s something careful about the way he says it. Still, he leans down and kisses me before I can think too hard about it. It starts soft and slow, but deepens with no problem. His hand curls against the side of my neck while his mouth moves against mine with enough hunger to make my chest ache. I grip the arm of the chair to steady myself as his tongue brushes mine.

Thank God I am fucking retiring soon. I can’t go a second without this.

He makes a tiny sound against my lips when I kiss him harder, and for a minute the exhaustion of travel completely disappears beneath the relief of finally touching him again.

When we finally separate, his nose brushes mine. “How was the trip?” he asks softly.

“Terrible,” I mutter honestly.

His mouth curls. “Because you had to have a stupid fucking sleepover?”