Page 14 of Give Me What You Will

He cursed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t reopen the wound, so that’s good,” Sammy said quietly, his body still caging his to the wall, tender and so fuckin’ concerned.

Frankie’s cock leaked.

It fucking leaked! The sensation of precum tipping his dick sent electrical shivers through every fiber of his body. He jerked again, fear slamming into him, followed by anger. He abruptly shoved Sammy off him, forcing distance between them. Sammy stumbled back, hands up in a defensive manner and looking the same way he had the last time in Papi’s bedroom: bags under his eyes and a crushing sadness twisting at the lines of his face as his jaw clenched firmly, holding it all back.

Frankie was too emotional last time to see it.

This time, he saw everything.

This was all just a fucking game.

Sammy was trying to push him away. He wanted to scare him or piss him off. Enough to make him run for the hills with his tail tucked between his legs like a bitch.

But it wasn’t going to work. Frankie wouldn’t be so easily scared off. It didn’t matter to him that his cock had gotten hard. That he could still feel Sammy’s heated lips on his like a damned engine burn.

Frankie pushed off the wall and jabbed a hard finger into his best friend’s chest. “You left because Papi died. You left because you had nothing left there but me. And then you went and fucked it up, because that’s what you do.” He needed him to understand—needed him to realize what he did. “You fucked up the only good thing in your life because you think you’re not allowed to be happy, or some stupid bullshit.”

Sammy swallowed, gaze lowering.

“You’re doin’ it again,” Frankie murmured. “You think a couple of kisses are gonna make me run, huh?”

Sammy’s eyes flew back to his, and he realized that was exactly what this idiot thought.

He shook his head, exasperated. “Do you think in the history of male friendship that this situation hasn’t come up before, but they decided to forget about it and still be friends?”

Sammy raked a hand through his curls on top of his head. “I tried that already, Frankie.”

“Oh, so I’m back to Frankie now?”

Sammy’s eyes darkened, and his heart oddly kicked against the bones of his chest. “Yeah, you are.”

His heart fluttered like a bird, shot through the chest with a bullet of disappointment. But why the fuck would he be disappointed in Sammy calling him Frankie again?

“Yeah, I am,” Frankie muttered, a restless energy coursing through him. “Well, I ain’t ok with you making a unanimous decision to drop our friendship without the fuckin’ decency to talk to me. So, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna go home because it’s pretty clear you don’t want me here.”

Sammy inched his head to the side, jaw clenching.

“And I’m gonna be there,” Frankie admitted, “waitin’ for you to finally get over your shit and keep being friends, because I ain’t lettin’ you fuck this up.”

“I already fucked it up, Frankie.”

“No. You haven’t. Not yet.”

He briefly wondered what it would take for Sammy to do just that.

Sammy sighed. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

Frankie stiffened. “Is that really what you want?”

His green eyes flickered to his face, and it felt like he’d been hit in the stomach. The pain and the hopelessness reflected there was something he’d never seen before.

“You’re serious,” Frankie murmured in sudden realization. A piercing sadness daggered his insides. “You’re fuckin’ serious…” he stepped back, eyes blurring with—tears?

Jesus.

He sucked in a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, fighting down the well of emotions. He wouldn’t cry here. Not now. Not in some fuckin’ alleyway, with his heart beating out of his goddamned chest.