Page 124 of Twisted Needs

“Because I didn’t get to hold you.”

His expression flickers again. “Dinner’s in the oven,” he says lightly, like he’s redirecting the conversation on purpose. “I made food.”

“You cooked?” I grin, trying to ignore it. Maybe it’s just nerves getting to him.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I cook all the time.”

“You made me dinner.”

His smile widens a little, but it still doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Steak and potatoes,” he says. “Very difficult culinary endeavor. Took me, like, two whole minutes.”

I stand slowly, sliding my hand along the side of his jaw as I rise. I grab his notebook off his lap and glance at the half-finished page before setting it gingerly on the coffee table. “What’re you writing?”

“Nothing good.”

“That’s never true. You’re my little writer.”

Neither of us moves for a second. We just stare at each other. I can tell he’s trying to pick something apart in the back of his head, but his expression is unreadable. I hold my hand out for him and pull him to stand. “Hey,” I say quietly. His gaze flicks away immediately. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” He says it too fast to be fully believable.

I give him a weary look. “Baby, c’mon.” “I said nothing.” He won’t fully meet my eyes anymore. And that’s how I know he’s ashamed of something. My stomach twists at the thought of it having to do with me. Somebody said something. I can feel it.

“Who pissed you off?” I ask softly.

Anders laughs once under his breath. “Why does someone have to piss me off?”

“Because you’re pretending to be fine and I know you’re not.”

That finally makes him look at me. There’s hurt there, but I almost wish it was anger.

“I just missed you,” he says quietly, making my chest ache. I pull him closer without thinking and he comes immediately, pressing himself against me hard enough that I nearly lose my balance.

Jesus Christ. He fucking needed this.

His face disappears into my chest while his arms wrap around my waist beneath my hoodie. I hold him tighter automatically. His entire body melts against mine little by little, tension draining slowly from his shoulders while I run my hand through his curls.

“You okay?” I murmur against the top of his head.

“Mm.”

“No lying.”

His lips brush absentmindedly against my chest through my hoodie, trailing lower.

“Sweetheart,” I say quietly.

“I missed you,” he whispers against me. There’s something almost desperate about it now, like he’s trying to prove something. Or reassure himself of something.

I tilt his face up gently. “Slow down a minute.”

His expression changes instantly, almost sharpening a little. “Are you serious?” he mutters.

“What?”

“You’ve been gone for over a week.”

My brows pull together. “Yeah. I know.”