Page 69 of Twisted Needs

Anders takes a long drink, leaning back against the counter. His throat moves when he swallows and my eyes catch there before I force them away.

“How was your night?” I ask instead.

“Fun.” He smiles faintly. “I got hit on by, like, twelve people.”

“Oh, I bet you did.”

He laughs softly. The sound settles warm beneath my ribs and I immediately hate how much I’ve missed it.

Anders sets the water bottle down and slowly closes the distance between us until he’s standing right in front of me. Too close.

My body notices immediately and tenses up against my will.

“So,” he says quietly, giving me a drunken smile.

I inhale staggeredly through my nose and purse my lips. “What?”

“It’s my big night,” he says again.

“Yeah,” I chuckle softly. “And you got hit on by eleven people.”

“Twelve.” His fingers slide lightly along my forearm. My muscles lock. Fuck. I should step back.

I should. Instead I grip the edge of the counter behind me hard enough that my knuckles ache. Something cold and sharp shoots down my spine. Anders reaches up slowly, giving me enough time to stop him if I want to.

I don’t. Hell, I don’t.

His fingertips brush through the front of my hair. The breath leaves my lungs in one quick pull. Something about the way he does it without invitation…I like it more than I should.

“Why are you asking?” He asks me, voice ringing with confidence. “Are you jealous?”

I open my mouth to speak, but the thought of even admitting I am terrifies the hell out of me. He softens a little. “Are you?”

“Anders—”

“Tell me,” he begs, “please.”

“Yes, I’m fucking jealous,” I breathe, almost like it’s painful to admit. “Of course I am.” But he already knew that. The pleased look on his face tells me as much. I look away from him immediately.

His hand slides to my jaw, turning my face back toward him with surprising gentleness. “Good,” he says quietly. “You should be.”

I’ve been beside myself for weeks now, absolutely reeling over the fact that I let him walk away from me on that dock thinking I didn’t want him, which is the complete opposite of the truth.

Anders steps closer until I can feel the warmth rolling off his body. Alcohol and expensive cologne and early autumn air.

I should shut this down. I should walk away. Instead, I stay rooted exactly where I am while this boy stands in my kitchen looking at me like he already knows every terrible thought floating inside my head.

And maybe he does.

He reaches for my hand carefully, and I know this should feel easy to stop, but it doesn’t. I don’t want it to. He nuzzles into my palm with his warm cheek and closes his eyes like it’s instinctive.

The intimacy of it nearly fucking kills me and my restraint starts cracking right down the center. My hands find his waist immediately, my fingers brushing up beneath his tight mesh top.

Anders exhales shakily and folds himself against me like he belongs there. Like he’s done this a thousand times already in his head. He doesn’t even need to think about it.

My eyes close before I can stop them.

His forehead rests against my chest as he stands in my arms and breathes slowly like this is the safest place he’s ever been.