Page 22 of Ruined

“Who’s Lane?”

“My friend.”

I’m silent for a minute, massaging the bridge of my nose.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“First I hear you dropped out of MIT, and now I hear your brother went to prison for aggravated assault.”

Oliver shifts his gaze, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt. “Are you mad?”

“No.” I shake my head with a familiar pain in my chest. “But I should’ve been there for you.”

“Yeah,” Oliver mumbles. “You should have.”

On an impulse to comfort him not only with words but also with touch, I slide my hand over the table and envelop his hand with my own. He flinches, and at first, I fear he’s uncomfortable with the touch, but then his shoulders relax, and his jaw slackens a bit. I stroke the callused pad of my thumb over his smooth knuckles, and he visibly shivers. His eyes flash to our hands, then bounce back to my face, and he looks almost scared.

It’s the same expression he had after our hug yesterday. That deer in the headlights, mortified one. Is it happening now, too? Is his body reacting to my touch?

Clearing my throat, I pull my hand back. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Um, yeah. Just a second.” He squirms in his seat, cheeks bright red.

Knowing that this is how his body reacts to my touch now is more knowledge than I wanted to have. I don’t know what to do about it, and I don’t think he knows either.

After he’s ready, we go back to my apartment.

“Can I see you on Monday?” he asks as I wheel his bike toward the door.

“I have work on Monday.”

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbles, and I can tell he’s trying to hide his disappointment. “What do you do?”

“I’m back at the hardware store, but I’m a manager now.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen. “That’s nice.”

I give a shrug. “The paycheck is nice, but it’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I bet you’re good at your job.” His cheeks flush as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“I’d like to think I am,” I say earnestly. “In any case, you can come for dinner if you’d like. I could use some help.”

His eyes grow comically wide. Cooking is one of the things we used to do all the time when he was small. To get him off his computer screen on the weekends, I used to say I needed help with dinner, and he’d shoot out of his room like a rocket and come join me in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I want to help.”

“Good.” I smile. “Are you sure you’re okay to ride your bike home? I could drive you.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. You’ve done so much already.”

I want to tell him I’d do anything for him, but even though it’s true, it would be too much. I spread my arms instead, and he jumps into my embrace with badly concealed enthusiasm.

“See you Monday,” he mumbles into my chest, and before our hug risks affecting his body in the wrong way, he pulls back, puts his helmet on, and disappears out the door.

8. IF ONLY HE KNEW

My dick can’t be for real. Did it seriously get hard from holding his hand?