Page 125 of Twisted Needs

“And you haven’t even let me touch you yet.”

For a minute, I just stare at him. “You think that’s all this is to me?” I ask a moment later.

Anders immediately looks away. His silence alone tells me everything. I cup his jaw again, forcing him gently back toward me. “Who said something to you?”

“No one.”

“Nuh-uh. Bullshit.”

He presses his lips together, then shrugs one shoulder like he suddenly regrets letting any emotion show at all. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t care. It matters to me.”

That nearly cracks him. I can see it happen in real time. His eyes flick downward. “I just…” He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”

“Talk to me, Anders.”

“I know this is weird,” he says quietly. “And complicated. And people are gonna have their opinions about it.”

“And?”

“And I know you’re not…” He swallows. “You’re not really the…relationship type.”

I stare at him. Actually stare, even blinking a few times. Because somehow this beautiful, impossible boy thinks I flew across the country thinking about him every waking second just to come home and treat him like a hookup.

My frustration must show on my face because he immediately backtracks. “I’m not saying that’s what this is,” he says quickly. “I know you care about me, Parker. I know that.”

I feel sick. “But?”

“But sometimes I don’t know how much.”

I grab his wrist and press his palm flat against my chest, right over my heartbeat. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out because the feeling is just too large for language. Terrifying, because saying the wrong thing could mess this up. I just hold his hand there harder instead. “You feel that?” I ask quietly. Anders nods once. “Good. That’s yours.”

His breath catches.

“Anders,” I say carefully, forcing every word out slowly, “I don’t know how to do this right yet. But this isn’t casual to me. You have never been casual.” Even still, he’s full of uncertainty and disbelief. My heart feels like it’s cracking into pieces just thinking about it. I pull him against me again and hold him tight enough that he lets out a tiny breath. “This is real,” I murmur into his hair. “Okay?”

He nods slowly against my chest, but I can tell he’s trying to believe me instead of actually believing me. And suddenly I know exactly what I need to do. I grab his hand. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Let’s go.”

“Parker—”

“Anders. Humor me.”

He gives me a weary look but lets me pull him toward the front door. I open it and cool spring air immediately rushes inside. The sidewalk outside is busy enough to matter—people walking dogs, couples passing by, someone jogging across the street.

Normally, I’d hesitate. Normally, I’d think about headlines. What if someone recognizes me? What if they take photos or ask questions? But right now all I can think about is the fact that Anders is standing beside me wondering if I’m ashamed of him, and I can’t fucking stand it. I refuse to let those thoughts live in his head, because I could never feel ashamed of him.

“What are we doing?” he asks cautiously.

I step onto the porch and tug him with me. The evening sky stretches gold and blue overhead, sunlight still hanging stubbornly above the buildings. I point upward. “The sun’s still out.”

Anders stares at me for a second. Then realization hits him all at once, his entire face changing. “Oh my God,” he mutters, immediately trying to hide a smile. “Okay. Shut up.”

“It’s still out,” I repeat.