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Ruckus and Micah shot each other a look. They looked amused and like they’d just made a pact to talk about this the second they left.

I tugged Declan into my room, closing the door behind him.

He didn’t do anything with the opportunity at first.

In fact, seemed like he might sleep at my tiny desk.

He had actually pulled the chair out.

I watched him inspect it.

“You cannot possibly think your giant ass is sleeping in that.”

He looked over. “I’ve slept worse places.”

“That chair has been trying to kill me since middle school.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“No.”

I sat on my bed, patted the spot beside me.

I had new powers apparently.

He obeyed me without a word. His hands propped up behind him, his arm almost touching my back.

He was so unhappy and stressed that I just wanted to get him out of it.

Also I wanted to touch him. I had wanted to touch him for so long.

He was not shutting me out. Not pushing me away. Whatever this was, I planned to explore it. I would not waste it. I would push it to its limit.

I touched his arm, pulled it. He shifted, sitting forward and giving it to me.

I touched his hand.

He threaded our fingers together.

That was it. That acceptance. It was new.

I watched our hands.

His swallowed mine. His fingers were rougher than mine, callused from football and weights, warm where they laced between mine.

I had spent two years training myself not to reach for him. Now he was holding on.

I reached my other arm over and rubbed his thigh. It was harder than I’d imagined, which strangely made my knees weak.

He watched my hand like it was a danger to him personally, but he didn’t stop me.

I felt along the muscles of his thigh, rubbing, feeling it with relish. Just the privilege of touching him felt too good to be true.

The muscle flexed beneath my palm.

I paused.

It flexed again. My eyes lifted to his.