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“But you weren’t nice. Not at first.”
I frown at his back as I press all my weight against my hands to really get a good dig in there. “What do you mean?” I grunt.
“You had to break away from me by being a dick. Remember?”
He’s bringing up our falling out senior year. It’s the time when we parted ways for good. I said my piece—or rather, yelled it. He said his—or rather, yelled it. And then just like that, we went from being best friends to being strangers.
It was worse than my worst breakup.
Maybe now, in retrospect, I really did see it as a legitimate breakup because I’d never felt anything more emotionally painful than I did the day our friendship ended. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I remember every single word I said—and the ones he shouted back. I remember the trickle of sweat that ran down my back and settled at the top of my ass crack. Weird detail to recall, but it’s there in my brain.
It happened in the cafeteria. Tater tots day. Everyone saw it.
Everyone.
I keep massaging him, despite the pang of guilt his bringing that up has inspired. I’m determined not to get all emotional or defensive on him, so I just mutter, “Yeah, I remember.”
“But it allowed you to go do your thing, didn’t it?”
“I … guess it did. Yeah.”
“And now look at you.” His voice carries a lightness about it. “Masters and dream job and everything.”
I nod even though he can’t see it.
Suddenly, he rises from the couch and spins around to face me, then spreads his arms. “Bring it in.”
I blink up at him. “Huh?”
“Bro-hug. Bring it in, Ryan. I need this. You need this. We’ve had long days.”
“I h-had a fairly uneventful day, actually,” I sputter—a fairly uneventful day until now.
“We’ve had long years.”
Those words of his sober me. I look up at Stefan’s body, encased tightly by his white tank top, which accentuates his two big pecs perfectly, his tattoos snaking across his skin underneath. His bulging biceps are out and free from the torture of stretched sleeves, and he waits for me to press my body against his.
Uh, I mean, hug him.
I rise off the couch and come in for a hug. His big arms wrap around me quicker than I expect, pulling me against him tightly. My face is smashed against his chest as his strong hands trap me, one firmly affixed to my shoulder blades, the other to the back of my head.
My ear against his firm and shapely chest, I hear his heartbeat thump, thump, thump through me with vigor.
And every single breath is Stefan. All Stefan. Totally Stefan.
The intoxicating smell I washed out of my sheets the first night he crashed here.
The lingering scent that hangs on his clothes, on his skin, and that fills his bedroom at home—which I still remember intensely.
My whole soul is filled from my lungs, to my smiling mouth, to my quickly swelling cock.
Wait. Quickly swelling cock?
I try to shift myself to conceal the stubborn beast, but Stefan’s hold on me won’t relent at all. In fact, I can swear he squeezes me against him even firmer.
Either he notices and doesn’t care, or he’s so consumed with this hug that he wouldn’t even notice if all the walls of my house fell down at once.
Unexpectedly, he brings his head down, and the side of his warm face rests upon my hair.
He isn’t letting go. And from the feel of it, he isn’t planning to let me go anytime soon.
He just breathes. And lets his heart beat. And holds me.
Then his hand that holds the back of my head starts to move. His fingers spread, tangling slightly in my short hair.
His fingers … move.
Is he stroking my hair?
Chemicals are rocketing through my body now. My eyes are wide open, but all I see is the muscular, flexing bulge of part of his shoulder and arm. I wish I had pressed my face against his chest the other direction; that way, I could possibly sneak a look at his face, because that would reveal all the things I need to know right now. Namely: what’s going on in Stefan’s head.
“Ryan?”
His voice is deep, yet quiet. It casts chills through my whole body, just that one uttering of my name.
“Stefan?” I shoot back, muffled slightly against his warm, broad chest.
“You know I care about you, right?”
“Sure,” I answer too quickly, the word coming out in a little squeak. “I know.”
“I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you. Or make you feel bad. Or mess you up in any way.”
I swallow. I have no idea what he’s getting at. I feel like I’m having this totally out-of-body experience with Stefan’s massive shoulder since that’s all I can see.
