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He shrugs, brushing his hair out of his face with a casualness that doesn’t match the pain in his eyes. “No one wants me, Matty. It’s fine. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“I want you.”
The words escape fiercely, hanging heavy in the air between us.
Xed’s lips part slightly, his eyes widening as he stares at me. The world falls away momentarily, leaving only a strange, electric hum between us. It’s alive, buzzing, making my skin prickle.
My throat tightens. I clear it awkwardly, stepping back quickly. “You need to take a shower.”
Blinking, he shakes his head to clear the moment before his familiar, annoyed expression creeps back. “I already showered today.”
“Yeah, but you smell like your aunt’s house. Not like…” Not like me. “Just get in. I’ll find your under-squares.”
Xed rolls his eyes at my Spongebob reference but doesn’t argue. He strips off his clothes, and my gaze flicks briefly to his smooth chest and soft stomach before I turn toward the dresser, suddenly feeling awkward.
I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve never seen him shirtless—we sleep in our underwear most nights—but tonight’s mood feels different. Heavy. I’m always more emotional when he hurts himself.
When I hear the water running, I grab a clean pair of briefs from his drawer and set them on the sink. Taking off my shirt and jeans, I climb into bed, the day’s weight settling into my bones.
I open the first-aid kit from my nightstand and wait. The water stops, and a few moments later, he shuts off the bathroom light, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of the LED strip running along the ceiling beams.
He climbs into bed next to me, flopping down with a sigh, his wrist landing on my lap.
Meticulously, I apply some burn cream, my movements gentle as I wrap his arm in gauze. Neither of us speaks—it’s a routine we’ve done too many times. Three nights a week, like clockwork. I hate it.
When I finish, I put the kit away and lie on my side, pulling him against my chest. Our legs tangle together perfectly, and I press my nose into his freshly washed hair, the woodsy scent of my body wash replacing the acrid smell of before.
“Better?” he whispers, holding onto me tightly.
I nod, a soft smile spreading across my face. “Better.”
Silence stretches between us, and sleep has almost claimed me when I feel his lips move against mine.
“Thank you for wanting me, Matty.”
Like I could ever want anyone else.
I kiss him back softly, a gesture we share only in the dark when we’re alone. It’s our secret, a rebellion against a world that believes two best friends kissing for comfort is wrong.
But how could it be wrong when it feels so right?
“I’ll always want you, Ducky,” I murmur against his lips. “Always.”
Chapter four
“If I’m not slapping dollar bills on a stripper’s ass in the next ten minutes, I’m gonna lose it.”
I glare over my shoulder at Christian leaning against the doorway of our hotel suite like he’s already three shots in.
“We literally just got here, man. Chill.”
Jesus. Barely in Vegas for five seconds, and he’s ready to unleash chaos. I haven’t even put my suitcase down yet.
“Oh my gawd-uh! Check out this room!“ His girlfriend Arya squeals as she crosses to the window with Salem. Together, they admire the view from the thirty-sixth floor.
The penthouse suite is massive—bigger than the entire apartment Salem and I just moved into. Two king-sized beds, a separate sitting area, and a Roman tub in the bathroom. Marble floors, opulent furniture, even a chandelier above the dining table. It’s like stepping into a dream, the kind only someone like Matty could afford.
Must be nice.
